Where All Roads Converge
by Miss Kristin of the Shire
Summary: The final installment in a three-part series and immediate sequel to "Into the Arms of Forever," this story will deal with Frodo and Sam's final days in Tol Eressëa and all the events leading up to the moment when they embark on the road "that we all must take." Will feature several cameo appearances from characters such as Gandalf, Elrond, and more which will remain a surprise.
1. An Unannounced Visitor

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome, intrepid readers! Note well: This story is the third and final installment in a trilogy of fics that I have written over the course of the last few months, beginning with "The Weary Trail of Deathless Days" and continuing with "Into the Arms of Forever." Although it is not _absolutely _essential to have read those two stories before diving into this one, I would earnestly recommend that you do so. I do recap some of the more salient points of the first fic in this particular chapter and will probably be referencing other past events as the tale goes on, but it will be a bit easier to follow if readers have already familiarized themselves with those stories. Then of course, there is the simple (and somewhat selfish) fact that it would make me very happy to have more people reading - and even happier to hear your reviews, if you are so inclined. Thoughtful, constructive commentary is always valued, and a kind word or a note of encouragement would just make my heart sing!

As a final note, I have been deliberately vague about the timeline all along, but suffice it to say that this story picks up many years after the ending of the previous fic. I am not very concerned with exact specificity as far as the ages of the hobbits go - just know that by this point they would be uncommonly old for their kind as a consequence of their long tenure in the Undying Lands.

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**Where All Roads Converge  
**

**Chapter 1: An Unannounced Visitor**

Everything was changed.

Perhaps not _changed_ precisely, not in the exact sense of the term, but rather, intensified in a way that was ineffable, a way that was impossible to pin down through the ordered logic of reason. There was an unaccountable sublimity at work, a sense of exaltedness and even sanctity that rendered the earth as consecrated ground. The eyes of the world were more watchful, more keenly discerning and intelligent, and this strange simultaneity of outside perspective seemed to heighten one's sense of self-awareness. The wind spoke not with inaudible breath but with intelligible words in a forgotten language, disseminating its message to the remotest corners of the world – a message that was communicated through the rustle of tree leaves and the resonating vibrato of birdsong.

There are moments of complete self-contemplation when one has freed his mind from all extraneous thought, when one's very soul seems to escape from his bodily thrall and looking at himself as from an outsider's view, he thinks to himself: _How must the flower in all of its beauty apprehend me, uncouth as I am? How low must I appear to the nightingale perched loftily in its bough? How does the turf underneath my feet suffer my weight so unprotestingly?_ And it is as though he is at once being scrutinized and looking out from the vantage point of nature in all of her guises. So it seemed to Frodo at this very moment.

He thought perhaps that he had found his way back to Valinor, that divine sanctuary of the mighty Valar, though he could not for the life of him remember being conveyed across the Sea from his home in Tol Eressëa. He had touched upon those shores before on more than one occasion, and he was quite familiar with that sense of burning oneness with the universe that he had known during those sojourns in that holy land. He remembered feeling as though his body had housed some torch that had reacted fiercely to the sudden immersion in the hallowed air reserved specially for the Ainur and the High Elves, that that fire must surely devour him with its potency and its desire to escape its fleshly prison. But here, it was not so. Here, there was none of that urgency, none of that inner frenzy searing him with its yearning to be freed. Here, he was not outside of his element the way that he had been in Valinor but was assuredly in concert with his environs. His immortal essence was not at odds with his mortal self, but the two walked together in perfect harmony and even ballasted one another.

_"But if I am not in Valinor, where then am I?"_ he thought to himself bemusedly. He had no answer and indeed, was so ensconced in his own soul's rapture that he little cared what the land was named. So he walked on, praising the grass between his toes all the while for granting him passage, praising the glory of the Sun that lit his way, praising wind and sky and space for each lungful of air, for gracing him with their endless splendour, for allowing him to subsist on the nourishment of their heavenly breath.

The land began to rise gradually and Frodo saw mounting before him a grassy knoll whose crest was kissed by the lowering Sun. He fancied that he saw a figure minutely eclipsing the light, thought it might have only been an upright finger of rock or some other topographical feature that had caught his eye. He made his way forward, heading always toward the Western light, that crown jewel that balanced on the summit of the hillock. The climb grew steeper, but his exertions cost him no weariness. As he drew nearer to the top he could now see that yes, there was indeed a certain someone ringed against the erumpent Sun, looming blackly against the white light, but he could only squint blindly against such powerful luminosity and was forced to shade his brow with a hand if he tried to make out the person's features. It seemed that the individual was looking outward in the direction of the Sun, unmoving and perfectly unaware of Frodo's presence.

When Frodo had finally completed the long trek to the top – and truly, it felt as though the ascent had been taken far longer than he had projected when he set out – he found himself looking at a hobbit whose back was to him. The hobbits' arms were clasped loosely behind his back, as though he were pondering some deep philosophical question, perhaps, or else ruminating on what to serve at the next mealtime (which was the likelier alternative, Frodo thought to himself).

"_What a strange place to meet another hobbit_," Frodo mused. "_I wonder how it is that he arrived here_."

He extended an arm to him and touched him gently on the shoulder, but there was something uncanny about the ordinary manoeuvre, as though a puppeteer had pulled an invisible thread connected to his arm and compelled him to the motion. The mystery hobbit unclasped his hands at Frodo's touch and slowly turned his curly brown head to face his unannounced visitor. Frodo gasped and took an astonished step backward, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process. The hobbit chuckled mirthfully, but without any trace of condescension, and the hairs on the back of Frodo's neck stood up at the noise. If he had not heard the sound of that laughter, he would have sworn that the light had dazzled his eyes and so deceived him; but now, he could not deny the proofs that had been laid before him.

"Bilbo?" he said aloud, wondering that those syllables should escape his lips.

"Hullo, Frodo lad," Bilbo hailed him serenely – but it was not the Bilbo that had cohabited with Frodo in Tol Eressëa. This Bilbo was young, as young as Frodo could ever remember seeing him, his physiognomy unlined and his complexion rosy and healthful.

"Uncle…" Frodo murmured in awed overtones, a suggestion of lingering disbelief evinced in his address.

"Yes, Frodo, I am here, so you may stop goggling at me once you have thoroughly convinced yourself of the fact!" he gibed with his typical irreverent humour.

"Forgive me, Uncle, but I had not expected to see you here – and looking so well, at that!" Frodo replied dumbly.

"I daresay you didn't, my boy, but that is no reason to go gaping and gawping at those you meet, chance encounter or not, now is it? But never mind. Though you might not have expected me,_ I_ have certainly been expecting _you_," said Bilbo.

"But…where are we?" Frodo queried, sweeping his head from side to side to survey his surroundings.

Bilbo turned his back suddenly, resuming his former stance as he gazed toward the western horizon. Frodo stepped forward and stood by his side, looking searchingly at his uncle's profile.

"Do you not know, Frodo?" Bilbo said at last, meeting his eye. He took one of Frodo's hands into his own and raised it eye-level. Frodo's brow wrinkled faintly as he tried to divine his uncle's meaning and his breath caught in his throat. He tore his hand away precipitously and splayed his fingers out in front of him, naked shock displaying itself on his visage. All of his fingers were present and accounted for, _all ten fingers_. Slowly, his eyes reconnected with Bilbo's, and a new thought occurred to him, one that he could not believe that he had neglected to remember.

"Bilbo… have I died?" Frodo asked tremulously.

"Let's just say that you are a long way from home," Bilbo said.

Frodo sat down in the grass dazedly and buried his face in his palms.

"I don't understand, Bilbo, I don't understand any of this," said Frodo, uncovering his face after a space. "How did this happen?" Bilbo lowered himself beside his nephew, stretching his legs out before him with an unconcern that Frodo found unbefitting.

"Now there, Frodo, you needn't look so down in the mouth. Where is that dauntless Baggins spirit that I know so well?" Bilbo encouraged. "You are not even sure of where you have got yourself landed in and yet already you fear for the worst."

"No, I do not know where I am, but I do remember what's become of _you_, Bilbo. And if I am with you now, then that could only lead me to one conclusion."

"Yes, that's all very sensible and reasonably stated – but then, we Bagginses were not always known for our good sense, now were we?" said Bilbo with a droll smirk.

"No…no, perhaps not. But it's all so strange. Strange that I should be sitting here with you like this…and you so young, and me with…" he glanced down at his hands. "Oh, Bilbo, I have not greeted you at all in the way that I should but I am very frightened and terribly bewildered. If this is what it is to die then it is not at all what I supposed."

"And why is that, Frodo?" asked Bilbo.

"Well…certainly it is beautiful here, beautiful in a way that I am hard put to describe. But it is also rather more desolate than I would have expected – but perhaps desolate is not quite the right word. It certainly seems as though the place is alive, but oddly enough, there is not a soul to be seen as far as I can tell, present company excluded of course. I feel as though I was still in transit, so to speak, like I have not yet arrived at my true destination. Tell me, Bilbo, have I really died or am I not just wandering through a dream?"

"Perhaps neither. Perhaps both, for who says that the dead do not dream? In either case, you are stuck with me now and you might as well make the best of your present situation if you want my advice," Bilbo replied.

"I wish you would speak plainer – you are worse even than Gandalf! But I _am_ glad to see you, though I have done a poor job of showing it. Only, it's all so strange. I cannot think of how I came to be here at all. I cannot remember anything, Bilbo."

"You remembered _me_, didn't you? And you remembered your hand, isn't it so? No, no, Frodo, there is much that you still remember, only the entire picture has not yet come into view. But you must apply yourself," Bilbo pontificated, and Frodo was swept back to his early days in Bag End, when he would sit in the study and pore over his Elvish characters, his uncle quietly overseeing his progress and nudging him forward when the going was difficult.

"Yes, perhaps I misspoke. Things _are_ beginning to come back in dribs and drabs, as it were. But it seems almost as though the things that I can recall have happened to someone else and I have only been taking note of my life's events all along."

"It does feel that way, doesn't it? It will wear off though, don't you fret about that. Well, I had hoped to hear news of you so you had better get on with remembering, if you have a mind," said Bilbo, planting his hands behind him and leaning back relaxedly. "For it has been a long, _long_ time."

"Well, let me see…" Frodo deliberated, combing his fingers through the grass absentmindedly. "I remember the white ship and the home that we kept on the Blessed Isle. How long was it that we remained there? Oh well, I suppose it is not very important. But it was wonderful, wasn't it Bilbo? Do you remember the sound of the Sea – for it seems to me that I can hear its echo even here – and the voices of the Elves as their songs were given lift on the air?"

"I do indeed. How could I forget? But do go on, Frodo. What else do you remember?" Bilbo said.

"I remember Valinor, for that is where I thought that I was walking moments ago, only some part that I have never travelled to. Valinor. That is where you…where we parted ways, wasn't it? Yes, there was a great procession, as I recall, and a bed for you to lie on. Gandalf was there, and Elrond, and ranks upon ranks of Elves all come to bid you farewell. And we let fall white flowers at the foot of your bed so that when all was done it looked like the ground was blanketed with snow. They sang for you, Bilbo. They sang with more than their voices; they sang with a melody that proceeded from their immortal souls. The sound swelled so hugely that I thought that even the peoples of Middle-earth could hear it, that it must have resounded even unto the high heavens. I even wondered if it might wake you, foolish as that sounds. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking. I wish you could have heard it."

"I have heard and seen a great deal – more than even you might guess, in point of fact. But now, you have told me almost nothing of yourself – and though I am very much flattered to hear of this kingly treatment that the Elves have lavished upon me, I fear that all this talk shall go right to my head if you continue to enlarge upon the same subject."

"Such treatment was very well deserved, in my opinion, and the Elves' tribute brought me some small comfort while I was in the throes of grieving. But there were dark days as well," said Frodo gravely. "There were days whose end was nowhere in sight, days whose emptiness left me numb and drained in spirit. Some days, I wondered what it was I was holding on for, what joy was left in living when the one I loved most was no longer beside me. I thought to myself, 'How funny that the stars should show their faces now that Bilbo cannot look at them,' and 'Why does the Sun rise when its rays can no longer touch his skin or warm his bones?' It seemed almost callous of the world to go on the way it ever has once you had departed from it. But the days marched on, as they will, and I marched along with them. And then something happened," Frodo murmured, a look of concentration marking his face.

"Bilbo!" he cried, unable to suppress his anxiety. "Where is Sam? Not alone? Surely not alone?"

"Rest assured, Frodo, Sam is quite safe. You have it on my word," Bilbo remarked, covering Frodo's hand with his own.

"You are quite sure, then? Because I cannot stand to think of his being left behind; it would be a knife right to my heart, Uncle, if such were the case."

"But it is not, and so much the better, lad, or else you should not have the heart to talk further with me, if you will forgive the expression," Bilbo replied.

"It is him that I have to thank for everything, you know," Frodo effused. "Everything that came after your…your leaving. He was there for me always, Bilbo. A smile from him could drive out the most stubborn of shadows. He spoke words of hope when I was unsure. He held me still when my spirits trembled. He gave life meaning when I thought that the cup of promise had been drained to the last dregs. And although we had our difficulties, we always surmounted them in the end. We have been together ever since."

"Good, good, then all that I could have hoped for has come true," Bilbo smiled. "I could not have left you in better hands."

"Yes, that's so. But though I have spent many grand and happy days with Sam in the Blessed Realm, I have never in all that time failed to remember you, Uncle; not though the skies should open up and wash away all fear and doubt with heavenly rain. So I have lived these last years: without worry for what may come, but rather, with growing anticipation to meet the fate that has been ordained for me. I do not know how my years number precisely, but I know that they have been many. Perhaps I am even nearing the age that you reached when you were last with me. I can feel them accumulating, Bilbo. I can feel the days tallying up so that I wonder if there will be room to make another mark. I think that Sam feels them even more keenly, if that is possible. He was over one hundred years old when he finally set sail, you know, and he begins to show his age. Not that I don't show it myself, though I suppose you cannot tell by my present looks. But I have lived much longer in the West and have had other assistance besides. I suppose what I am trying to say is that I understand now better than ever how you must have felt in your waning days. Perhaps that is why I am here now."

The two hobbits studied the skyline in thoughtful silence. Frodo tried with all of his might to conjure up some memory of where he had been last before he had strayed into this peculiar land, but could not fix upon a single concrete detail. Just as he inwardly wished to himself for some means of clearing his head, Bilbo amazingly produced not one but _two_ pipes from an inner jacket pocket and offered one to his nephew with a flourish.

"Now I _know_ I must be dreaming!" Frodo proclaimed. "Surely this couldn't be…"

"Aye, Old Toby as sure as I am sitting here with you," Bilbo finished, setting a match to the bowl of his pipe and handing it off to Frodo.

"My word, I have not seen a trace of pipe-weed since I was in the Shire," said Frodo, mystified.

"True, the Elves were never very keen on smoking, were they? Well, luckily, your uncle has his resources," Bilbo said with a wink. "I have always been of the mind that smoking, when done properly, is an art form in itself, wouldn't you agree?" he asked whimsically, blowing a triple stack of smoke rings in demonstration of his artistry.

"Heartily!" Frodo corroborated, taking a pull from his pipe with relish. "If anyone had told me that I should be sitting outdoors with you, sharing a smoke and swapping tales, I should have said that they were stark raving mad."

"Why, Frodo, you say that as though it were an insult; for do not forget that you are in the company of none other than Mad Baggins himself," Bilbo returned.

"So I recall," said Frodo. "You certainly gained quite the reputation in Hobbiton after that stunt under the Party Tree. Well, I hope you have forgiven our fellow hobbits for such silly designations."

"What is there to forgive? I have embraced the title wholeheartedly! For it seems to me that we mad folk have a good deal more sense than those who count themselves sane."

"Well, Bilbo, if you are the standard-bearer for madness then I hope that I shall never be sane again!"

"Spoken like a true Baggins!" Bilbo enthused. "Ah, Frodo, I have missed you more than I can say. Really and truly. But I am afraid that I will have to leave you again soon."

"Leave me? But where are you going, Uncle?"

"Now, don't be afraid. This meeting may not be our last. But it's time now you went back to where you belong."

"But we have only just met! And there is so much that I have not learned from you. There is so much still for us to discuss."

"And perhaps we shall have that chance; but see now, the Sun is setting and the day is ending. And when the Sun has disappeared from the sky, so too must I take my leave."

"When will I see you again, Bilbo?"

"Soon enough, Frodo. Soon enough. Now, what say we enjoy the last of Old Toby while the light still remains, hm?"

Frodo sat staring into the glowing mouth of the pipe as the embers mimicked the extinguishing fire of the receding Sun. The shade of dusk drew up to his knees and was working its way steadily upward as the light dimmed to a burnt umber. The Sun went from honeydew full to eyelet small and would soon be overwhelmed entirely and lost to sight.

"Bilbo?" said Frodo impulsively, but when he turned to him there was no sign that anyone had ever been there.


	2. Smoke And Mirrors

**Chapter 2: Smoke and Mirrors**

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam's voice beside his ear called to him. He felt a hand smooth back the curls from his brow and touch his cheek, as though checking for signs of fever. Frodo turned his face toward his friend as his eyes fluttered open, the maple light of the new sunrise permeating the drawn curtains.

"Hm? What – what is it, Sam, is something the matter?" asked a disoriented Frodo to his harried-looking bedmate.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. You were talkin' in your sleep, that's what. You seemed unsettled- like, kind of ill at ease. I thought you might be having a bad dream."

"_So it _was_ a dream_," Frodo thought; but even as the idea entered his head, something about it did not seem to ring entirely true. He felt reflexively at his maimed hand underneath the covers and traced a finger over the familiar stump which had earned him the appellation 'Nine-fingered Frodo' long ago.

"No, not a bad dream, Sam lad, not that," he said faintly.

"Why, Mr. Frodo, you're cold all over," Sam cut in, his palm lying flat against Frodo's face. "Well that won't do at all. Come, Frodo dear, your Sam will have you warmed up in no time," he said, and gathering Frodo up in his arms, held him to his chest.

"Thank you, Sam; now that you mention it, I _am_ quite cold, though I cannot for the life of me say why."

"Whatever happened while you were sleeping, it's chilled you right through, seemingly," said Sam as Frodo shivered palpably against him. "Poor Mr. Frodo, you're shaking something awful. Just rest you still, now. It'll pass."

Frodo's unfocussed eyes fixed on the empty wall opposite him as Sam ran his hands over his shoulders vigourously. Frodo clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his teeth from rattling in his head and took slow, measured breaths as the feeling slowly came back into extremities by virtue of Sam's freely flowing body heat. He marveled at how generously Sam's life-blood was communicated to him, how readily his vitality could be transferred to a new source. He felt almost ashamed to take so profusely of this vital force, as though he were somehow depriving his friend of something essential to his own well-being. But it was not so. A river may empty out to the Sea, but it is continuously fed by its own special origin; and so it continues to run through meadow and over valley, up hill and down dale, losing none of itself as it joins with another body but drawing always from some inexhaustible wellspring, and can therefore never be depleted. When this shared warmth that had passed osmotically between them and had worked its way into the centremost core of Frodo's being and put an end to his tremors, Frodo addressed Sam.

"I feel much better now, Sam. The ice, it seems, has melted and the chill departed thanks to you."

"Best not take any chances though, Mr. Frodo. What say I put on a nice, hot pot of tea while you just take it easy for a bit longer?" Sam offered.

"Now now, Sam, you mustn't trouble over me," Frodo protested, but Sam forestalled any further argument with a voice that must have cut short scores of squabbles, gripes, and temper flares in Bag End when it had harboured no less than thirteen feisty hobbit children at one time.

"Stop right there, Mr. Frodo, I won't have it. As if it something so easy could be any trouble – not a bit of it! And anyway, it's only just sunup by the look of it and no reason you should be up and about, least of all when you're unwell. So you just sit tight and I'll be back in a flash," he said, tossing back the coverlets and replacing them carefully, tucking them around Frodo's recumbent form as though to ensure that none of the good, nurturing heat could escape, and made his way toward the kitchen.

XXXXX

Wrapping his housecoat closely about him, Sam ambled to the stovetop and put the kettle on perfunctorily, his mind busy to distraction as he waited for the water to come to a boil. Waking up to find Frodo in that inexplicable condition had set off a blaring alarm in his head, though he had made a concerted effort to disguise his initial trepidation.

"_I've heard of waking up in a cold sweat, but never waking up just plain cold_," he thought, biting the inside of his cheek. "_And what was he going on about muttering in his sleep, I wonder? I could-a sworn I heard him say Mr. Bilbo's name. Oh, but I hope _those_ old nightmares haven't made a comeback_!" He remembered only too clearly the last time that Frodo was visited by a wraith-like Bilbo in the midst of a walking sleep and the upheaval that _that_ had created. "_But he said it weren't a nightmare this time, and I believe him. It's that cold that's really got me in a bind_."

The way that Frodo had shuddered involuntarily in the shelter of his arms moments ago had generated its own set of shock waves through Sam's body – could he not still feel their aftermath? Even now it felt as though waves of ebbing distress were crashing down like breakers on the shores of his equanimity, that the blood was singing shrilly in his ears – a long, sustained note that grated cruelly on him. Then, he realised with a start that he had not imagined the sound at all, but that the kettle was whistling on its burner. He took the pot off hurriedly, berating himself as he finished his task, topping off the hot beverage with a touch of honey and setting the cup and saucer on a serving tray.

"_I hope that all this worrying is over nothing. Anyway, he seems to have come back to his right self_," he said to himself, heading back towards the bedroom, and was shocked to hear a gale of laughter proceeding from within.

"_Here's hoping I haven't spoken too soon_."

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As soon as Sam had left the room, Frodo closed his eyes, half-hoping that he could find his way back to that high green hill that towered imposingly above all other thoughts like an emerald-domed turret. Perhaps if he could only slip back into unconsciousness his feet could find their way back to that spot once more; perhaps the Sun had emerged in that land again and Bilbo was waiting patiently for him at the summit.

"_Oh, but what am I thinking_?" Frodo admonished himself. "_It was all only a figment of my imagination. But then, it did _feel_ very real at the time. Very real indeed. Still, that is the way of certain dreams, and they are no realer for all their vividness. No, it could not have been true. Bilbo is gone, gone somewhere far away, and I am still here. Here with Sam_."

The reminder solaced him, for he recollected how affrighted he had been at discovering that Sam was nowhere to be found in that mysterious place. No, things had not been _altogether_ pleasant in the dream-word where he had roamed, not when he had been all but certain that death had crept stealthily upon him at an unremembered hour, not when he had seen how eerily unpopulated the locality had been. But Bilbo had been there, and that had mitigated the worst of his apprehensions. And then, of course, there was the pipe-weed.

"_Old Toby indeed_!" Frodo snorted. "_What foolishness! I _really_ must have cracked to have believed that such a thing could have really happened_."

And yet, the faintest trace of a smoky-sweet, earthy flavour seemed to linger on his tongue and thrill his taste buds with its savoury aroma.

"_Now you are _really_ getting carried away with yourself," _Frodo thought. "_It is only the _suggestion_ of the old leaf has got you remembering its former taste, nothing more_." But the experience had undoubtedly been a novel one.

"_In any case, it certainly has made me nostalgic for my old pastime, if nothing else. What I wouldn't give for just a pinch of the Southfarthing's finest right now! Perhaps that might help to clear my head of these fanciful delusions_."

He flipped peevishly over to his side, closing his eyes and burrowing deeper into the blankets. He exhaled with a touch of annoyance at his own frivolity, but could not resist opening a curious eyelid to ensure that he had not, in fact, emitted a smoke-ring. He chuckled to himself, a small, stifled sound that began in his throat and grew to a rolling crescendo, ringing out gaily with unchecked abandon. Sam came in carrying the tea-tray at that very moment, a quizzical look scrawled legibly across his face.

"Mr. Frodo?" he asked sceptically. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, fine, Sam, don't mind me!" Frodo replied, sitting up as he collected himself and let his bout of laughter dwindle down naturally. "Dear Sam, you must think that your old Frodo has been touched in the head – and perhaps you would not be wrong in thinking so!"

"Well, I'm glad to see you in good spirits again, I will say that…but you're sure you're not feeling a touch feverish?" he asked, appraising him with a judicious eye.

"Ah-ha, so he does suspect! I take it that you are referring to brain fever, no doubt, is that the way of it? Oh, but I am only teasing," he said, seeing the consternation on Sam's face. "I apologise, Sam. Thank you very much for the tea," he said, taking the proffered cup.

"It's just as well I brought you tea and not something from the wine-cellar," Sam bantered, venturing a hesitant smile.

"Just as well!" Frodo echoed with a chortle, sipping daintily at his tea as Sam opened the curtains and took a seat on the bed next to him.

"_Mr. Frodo's in a funny mood, sure enough. If I didn't know better, I'd-a thought he'd had a drop already, or something of the sort_," Sam reflected, but kept the thought to himself.

Frodo brought his teacup down on the saucer with a clink of porcelain on porcelain and regarded Sam humourously.

"Sam, you look as serious as though you were going to a funeral! I hope I have not offended you," he said. At the word 'funeral,' Sam winced, nearly undetectably, and made answer.

"No, sir, no offence taken. I just want to be sure you're all right is all. It's not exactly what I call normal to wake up next to a block of ice where a hobbit should be, if you understand," and he touched Frodo's forehead again with the back of his hand. His skin was cool, but returning to a satisfactory temperature.

"I understand, Sam. Well, I suppose that it what comes of living to such an age. It is only natural that one's defences begin to wear down."

"You're sure that that's all it is?" Sam asked, looking Frodo straight in the eye. "Because the last time I felt a body that cold…" he swallowed and looked down into his lap. Frodo set aside his tea and sat upright, taking Sam by the arm.

"I am quite sure, Sam. What other explanation could there be?"

"I s'pose you're right. Maybe I'm just lettin' my worries get the better of me. It's just, it brought me back to the day – that awfullest of days – when my Rosie passed, and I couldn't help but think that maybe," he sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. "The important thing is that you're up and back to your old self. Losing you would be more'n I could bear, Mr. Frodo, and I mean it. You're all that I've got in all this great land, and I'm not about to take my eye off-a you now. So if there's anything that's not quite right with you, even the smallest of things, even if it's so small that you figure it's probably nothing at all, I _need_ you to tell me. 'Cause even the small things you think nothing of can grow to be something big if you go on ignoring them. Please, Mr. Frodo. For my sake, if not for your own. Can you promise me that much?"

Frodo squeezed Sam's arm with his one hand and traced the side of his face with the other.

"I promise it, Sam. No secrets between us, yes?" he said, reiterating a vow he had spoken long before. Sam nodded, a thin smile manifesting itself on his face. "Very well then, here is the truth. While you were off preparing the tea, I have been sitting here convincing myself that I had only woken up out of a dream – that is why I laughed aloud, you see, because it would be perfectly absurd to think otherwise. Absurd because I was chatting with Bilbo, which of course is impossible, and _smoking_ of all things – another clear mark in favour of my dream theory. And he was young again, and so was I, by all tokens, and well, you can see for yourself that it was all a simple flight of fancy. Though, I will admit, it did seem terribly life-like at the time. But we have all had dreams of that nature at some time or another. Why, I fancied I could almost taste Old Toby, so convincing was the experience! But it was all imagined, and I am no worse the wear for it."

"I dearly hope so, Mr. Frodo. We can't be too careful though, 'specially after that chill that ran you through this mornin', and I mean to keep a watch over you just in case. Here's an idea: you finish up that tea and I'll draw up a bath for you with some of them lovely soaps and you can have a good, long soak."

"You really are too good to me, Sam, do you know that? I might even say that you were fussing excessively over me, but I suppose that you would only give me a stern reprimand for saying so. So I will hold my tongue: a bath would be delightful. But it would be better still if you would join me. We have the two washtubs after all," he said.

"That'd suit me just fine," Sam replied. "These old crickety joints could do with some hot bathwater to get 'em good and loosened up."

XXXXX

Soon after, the hobbits found themselves reposing in the heady, lavender-infused waters of their twin tubs, silvery curlicues of aromatic steam shimmering above and about them. The frosted windows let pass a swath of sunlight, creating a dappled effect on the surface of the steaming water and glossing their faces with a golden overlay.

"Sam, if this is not the definition of earthly bliss I do not know what is," Frodo gushed, his eyes closing pleasurably as he lowered himself deeper into the fragrant water, its heat enrobing him all the way up to his neck.

"Very nearly, Mr. Frodo, but I'd say it's a close second to a heaping plate of fried mushrooms, a rasher of bacon, a tasty meat an' tater stew, and then maybe a cup of ale to wash the whole thing down."

"Ah well, I cannot argue with that – to each his own! Oh, but I feel I could just melt into the water like a pad of butter on toasted bread."

"That'd be a welcome change from this morning, I'll warrant," Sam piped up.

"Are you still thinking of that, Sam? I thought you had been quite cured of your worries."

"It's not that I'm worried exactly, for I'll see that no harm comes anigh you or I'm a blamed cave-troll! But I've been giving what you said some thinking over."

"I have been thinking about it myself if truth be told," Frodo said, containing a smile. "Well, what conclusions have you come to, if I may ask?"

"Nothing very solid, I'm afraid, for it seems to me that these kinds-a things are well beyond me, and anything I have to say about it'll probably end up sounding like a lot of hot air," replied Sam ruefully.

"They are beyond all of us, save perhaps the very wisest. But come, do not be shy, let us at least speculate a little, though we may not get any closer to finding any real answers. Tell me your thoughts."

"Well, I was thinking of how you said you had to talk yourself into believing that you'd only been dreaming all along. Now, I'm not saying that you weren't and there's nothing to show that it was anything different. But what if it _was_ something else? What if somewhere in your mind you were trying to get to Mr. Bilbo on account of your missing him, and what if maybe the Great Ones saw fit to give you a little peep of him, but you went and took things further than you were meant to? What if you were trying so hard to get to Bilbo that your hold on your real, flesh 'n' blood self started slipping? I know how far-fetched it sounds, but that's just my thoughts, and like I said, not a lot of weight behind him. What about you, Mr. Frodo? What's your take on all this?"

Frodo sat in meditative silence as he listened to Sam expound upon his ideas. Sometimes, the latitude of his insight still managed to surprise him.

"I think that you have given me a lot to think over, Sam. Up until this very moment, I was fully prepared to defend my idea that I was merely in the grips of a lucid dream. For already, my recollection of the encounter is fast-fading, as dreams are wont to do."

Frodo broke off, desperately endeavouring to call to mind any of the words that Bilbo had left him with, trying to grab hold of a single thread of their conversation.

_Who says the dead do not dream?_

The phrase jolted through him like a thunder-clap. There was a splashing sound as he upset the bathwater in his perturbation, a sound which reverberated with surprising volume in the enclosed room. He began talking in a rushed, orotund voice as though to divert attention away from his inadvertent jump.

"And I suppose that that is still the likeliest explanation, if I am being practical about things. One really ought to be level-headed about these sorts of affairs, you know."

_But then we Bagginses were never known for our good sense, now were we?_

He smiled secretively, clucking his tongue at this very un-Bagginslike conduct, and went on speaking at a more relaxed, unrushed clip.

"But then, perhaps I _was_ in closer contact with Bilbo than I have been allowing myself to believe. I do not know if what you are suggesting is possible, Sam, but I have reached a point in my life where I am willing to concede that _anything_ is possible. There are many strange forces in the world of which I know not one jot, and this would certainly not be the first time encountering some such force. Then again, perhaps it really is just a symptom of my age. It certainly would not be unheard-of to suggest that we ancients are ever striving to return to the halcyon days of our youth, however we can."

"I hear that, Mr. Frodo. It's nice looking back, remembering the good times," he said dreamily, his voice trailing off anticlimactically. Moments passed, and Frodo thought that Sam might have nodded off as he silently relived past memories – and he could have hardly faulted him for it, for that urge was strong on him as well – but his assumption was proven wrong.

"Do you remember the time in Crickhollow, Mr. Frodo, when young Pippin nearly flooded out the place while singing one of Mr. Bilbo's bath songs?" Sam asked on a sudden whim.

"Gracious, I hadn't thought about that in ages!" Frodo replied, genuinely surprised. "I say, you've a memory like a steel trap!"

"I wouldn't go so far as that, sir – lying here at bath just sort of made it spring to mind, by chance."

"Hmm, Pippin was something of a rascal in those days wasn't he? But a likely lad, all the same, to be sure."

"Ain't it funny to think that that very same hobbit went on to become Thain of the Shire? (Though perhaps no funnier than yours truly becomin' the Mayor, come to think of it). But then, he did a good deal of growing up after all he'd been through during the Great War, and more than just lengthwise, you understand, though not so much as you wouldn't recognise him."

"I cannot picture Pippin or Merry as anything other than the way I last saw them," Frodo said wistfully. "No matter how many tales I should hear of them or accounts of their doings that you should bring me, I believe I shall always remember them as they were."

"I wonder where they are now," Sam pondered.

"I wonder as well," said Frodo quietly.

Silence held sway once more, broken only occasionally by the eddying movement of water when the bathers shifted their positions.

"Well, I believe that if I will shrivel up to a prune if I stay in any longer, reluctant as I am to leave this spot" Frodo announced.

"Aye, sir – and we've got wrinkles enough 'tween the two of us to deal with without adding more of 'em to the pot," Sam put in.

"True enough, Sam. But everything comes with its price. It cannot be helped! Now, let us remove ourselves before we end up becoming a double portion of hobbit stew," Frodo quipped.

Without further ado, the hobbits vacated the sanctum of the washing basins and wrapped themselves in their cotton bathrobes. Frodo stood in front of the looking-glass, fogged thickly over with condensation as it was, and toweled off his hair, now completely white, but remarkably thick despite that (though how much of that could be credited to the Elvish arts, Frodo could not say definitively). The heat conferred to him by his morning bath had flushed the apples of his cheeks, lending him the illusion of being younger than he truly was. But as the veneer of fog mantling the mirror began to vanish and the glass became transparent again, the impression was somewhat minimised. Frodo sighed longingly, when a shape behind him caught his eye in the mirror. He had figured it for a belated ribbon of steam risen from one of the baths at first glance. On closer inspection, however, he saw that it was in fact a perfectly-formed ring of smoke, billowing up from an indeterminate exit point. He looked over his shoulder abruptly, scanning the area with a bemused but peculiarly optimistic gaze, but there was nothing there to be seen.


	3. Noontime Reflections and Chance Reunions

**Chapter 3: Noontime Reflections and Chance Reunions**

Frodo exited the vapourous bathroom, still redolent of fragranced soap and damp with clinging moisture, and shook his head to himself as the image he had seen (or thought that he had seen) dissipated into invisibility as rapidly as – well, as a smoke-ring, if you had asked him.

"_Frodo_," he said to himself drily, "_I am afraid there is no use in denying the fact: you have positively become as mad as a March hare in your old age. Well, let it pass! I can certainly think of worse fates than that_ – _beginning the day without a suitable breakfast, for example._"

Presently, Sam sidled up beside him, dewdrops of water dripping from the ends of his whitened hair like disappearing beads of glass, and breathed in a draught of replenishing air.

"Well, that's done me a world of good, I must say," Sam avouched. "I feel almost as if I could up and dance right on the spot! But how are _you_ feeling now, Mr. Frodo?"

"Quite well, my good hobbit, all things considered. Though, I must confess, the thought of you performing the Springle-ring before my very eyes is an idea that amuses me to no end. But never fear! I would not think of asking such a feat of you."

"I hope not, sir! I'd wager that it'd be the last thing I ever tried, if try I did. And besides, a hobbit my age has no call to be dancing as though he were still a lad in his teens – and goodness knows it's been a blessed long time since I've seen _those_ days. But all this talk of dancing has worked up my appetite something fierce, and I expect that you'll be feeling the same too, what with us lying about well past our usual breakfast-time."

"You have taken the words right out of my mouth. Let us change out of these robes and then I will assist you in the kitchen."

XXXXX

Once the two hobbits were dressed and properly fed (for the early morning's solitary cup of tea was hardly sustenance enough for Frodo, and Sam in his excitement had not even poured any for himself) and the dishes were all cleared away, Frodo and Sam headed outside on the verandah, as their after-breakfast ritual dictated.

"Well, what d'you know, Mr. Frodo – another beautiful day here in the Elvish lands. Fancy that," Sam said with a wry smile.

And he was quite correct. The cloudless sky was of a blue so pure and the ground below so teeming with greenery that one felt inclined to weep for joy at the sight of it. The sea's melody, ever-present even behind closed doors, called out with greater clarity in the open air and was augmented by the interposing cry of the gulls and the daintier chirrup of sparrows. Sam had seen to the surrounding gardens, though they had needed little tending, and their multitudinous array of colour was a wonder to look upon: the cascading purple of the wisteria, the vibrant pink of the azaleas, the marigolds bedecked in bold orange and red, the forget-me-nots of electric blue, and of course, the peerless golden-petalled elanor, to name but a few.

"I wonder if you counted 'em all up, all the beautiful days we've seen here together, what the total would come to?" Sam asked half to himself and half to Frodo. "Then again, I'm not so sure as I'd want to find out the answer – it'd likely take the breath right out-o' me if I knew."

"Perhaps some things are better left unknown," Frodo agreed, rocking back on his heels thoughtfully.

"True enough. Best to enjoy what we've got while we still have it and not question how much longer we'll have it for," said Sam, beginning to lower himself into his patio chair.

"Wait! Before you sit down, Sam," Frodo interpolated, halting Sam midway to his seat, "I was thinking that perhaps we might go for a walk this morning instead of roosting about here like a couple of sitting ducks, if you are not opposed. You are quite right in saying that we should appreciate what we have while we are still able, and so I should like to take advantage of the use of my legs, for who knows how many good walking days we shall have left?"

"I see your point, Mr. Frodo, but are you sure you're feeling up to it?" Sam asked, slowly straightening himself back to a standing position.

"Certainly, Sam; that is, if you will be so good as to accompany me."

"Well then, a walk it is!" said Sam.

XXXXX

The two hobbits set a leisurely pace as they strolled through the unmarked avenues of the Blessed Isle, neither of them terribly concerned with which direction they were headed or where they might find themselves. In fact, they were being drawn seaward, though neither had been quite conscious of it until the shoreline had come into view. They were, however, cognizant of the softness of the grass as it kissed the soles of their feet, the balmy wind that tousled their hair at irregular intervals, the slanting sunlight that danced across their bare skin and penetrated through their outer garments like an incorporeal embrace.

They were speechless for some time, content simply to walk beside one another and immerse themselves in the magnificence of the landscape and to busy themselves with their own hazy cogitations that percolated fitfully in fast-dissolving thought bubbles. But Frodo's mind turned to conversation after a spell, for there was much that begged consideration in the wake of the unusual manifestations that had been lately revealed to him.

"Sam, would you indulge an old hobbit for a moment and answer me something?" Frodo initiated in as detached a manner as he could muster.

"Course I would, Mr. Frodo; what's on your mind?"

"Nothing terribly pressing, I assure you," Frodo prefaced, hoping to defuse any possible suspicions in advance. "I was just thinking about this and that, you see, allowing my mind to wander where it pleases, as it will when one embarks on a midday stroll. And there is something I'd like to hear your opinion on, if you would; a purely hypothetical question, I might add. But you won't think me peculiar for asking it, I hope?"

"I guess that all depends on what it is you're asking. But go on, you know you can come to me with anything," said Sam, his curiosity awoken. Frodo paused for the briefest of moments, retaining a semblance of casual conversationalism all the while, and continued.

"Tell me, Sam, do you think that those who are dead may roam the earth at will?"

Sam stopped mid-stride, obliging Frodo to stop with him, and gave him a quick look. Frodo could not help feeling that he had hopelessly botched his delivery, but Sam released his hold on his eyes and began walking again at the same unhurried pace.

"Well, sir, it's a tricky sort of question, a regular head-scratcher, I reckon," Sam said, looking down at his feet as the feathery grass gave way to granular sand. "It's one of those questions that's asking for a lot of guesswork – kind of like what you said earlier in the bath when we were talking about your dreaming of Mr. Bilbo: how we can try to work it out as best we can but still get no nearer to really understanding. I guess that's the way of all the big questions though, isn't it?"

"It is, Sam. It is indeed," said Frodo solemnly. "And yet, no matter how far the answers lie beyond our grasp, we still struggle to make sense of them however we can; we still pursue them with the same tireless determination and unquenchable curiosity, for it is these answers that lie at the heart of our greatest desires and our deepest dreads. If we could but lay even a single finger on them, then perhaps we might seize upon the key that would unlock the meaning of life itself… But I am straying from the main point. Well, do not let the ramblings of an old hobbit like me steer you off course; please, speak on!"

"All right, Mr. Frodo, since you ask, I'll have a crack at it," Sam resumed. "One of the things that popped into my mind straightaway when you asked me about the dead walking in the living world was the Red Book, for it wouldn't do to go forgetting our own history, what with all the time you and Mr. Bilbo spent setting it down. It made me think of old Strider – that is, King Aragorn – and how he called up on those fell men while the Great War was still underway. Now _they'd_ been dead for some time and were still hanging about waiting for a summons, though they weren't having such a good time of it, by all accounts. That was a curse, that was, and not something they'd a-chosen for themselves, I don't doubt. So when you ask 'can the dead roam the earth _at will,_' it seems to me that that's not the case, leastways not in that partic'lar example, for they surely wouldn't-a willed it that way. And I don't know that they were given leave to up and walk about the way that you and me are right now neither. The way I always saw it, I thought that they weren't much more'n a lot of spirits bound up in some deep, dark place, sort of prisoners caged up and not going anywhere in a hurry."

"So you think then that the only dead who linger here are like those condemned ones, they who cannot move on to the next life as a result of some unhappy fate or a piece of unfinished business?" asked Frodo.

"Hold on, sir, I didn't quite say all that. I haven't finished, begging your pardon."

"Then it is_ I_ who should be seeking _your_ pardon, Sam, for that is twice now that I have interrupted you!" said Frodo, smiling apologetically.

"That's all right, Mr. Frodo, think nothing of it. I was just going to say that that was only one example and not the way it is as a rule. Theirs was a bad lot and a cruel turn, there's no denying it, even if they did bring it on themselves; but I can think of some even worse off than that, for I haven't even said nothing of barrow-wights or Black Riders – and I don't mean to either! Such dark things don't have no place here in the Blessed Lands and it's not right and proper that they should be talked about; and anyhow, I'm guessing that that's not the sort of thing you had in mind. But when it comes to ordinary, decent folk like us, I think there's another set of rules we've got to follow, more or less. I don't think there's any _real_ coming back, not the way that you're thinking of. Wherever those who've passed on are come to, I don't think there's any leaving. I _do_ think that they have ways of getting a message to us though, or sending us a sign that they're still looking out for us. I think that the love they had for those they left behind is something that don't ever die, and that we carry it with us for all our lives until we meet them again. I think that all their goodness has a way of taking root in the earth and that it keeps on growing even after they're gone, as long as there are hands to tend to it. So to answer your question, Mr. Frodo, I _do_ think that the dead have a place here and that they're as much a part of the world as you and me. Just 'cause we're here in body and they're here in spirit don't mean that we can't cross paths from time to time. I'm willin' to bet you've felt it before. I know I have."

The two stopped at they approached the waterline, their faces turned to the West. Frodo closed his eyes as though he could see more clearly now they were shut.

"Samwise Gamgee, I could not have said it better myself," was all the reply that he could make.

XXXXX

Long did the hobbits remain on the white shores of Tol Eressëa, as much to engage in quiet reflection as to recover their strength and get a second wind for their homeward trip. Finally, they turned their backs to the Sea, having derived from it all the regenerative power that they could hope for, and began to make their way back.

Though Frodo had felt considerably refreshed in body and mind after his outing with Sam, he found himself wishing that he had at least had the foresight to have brought his walking-stick for the excursion after a short while. Stealing a glance at Sam, he supposed that he was feeling the same way.

"I had forgotten how tiring something as simple as a walk about town could be," voiced Frodo.

"Aye, Mr. Frodo, I know what you mean. All this roamin' about and the Sun coming down on my head, I feel very nearly spent."

"I think that we had better take a rest here before we go any further, lest we push ourselves to exhaustion."

"I'd be glad of it, sir, and no mistake. We two would make a pretty sight lyin' helpless on the ground out cold."

"The Valar forbid! No, let us get off of our feet for a bit and sit here in the grass before it comes to that," said Frodo. "And look! Here is a mallorn tree to give us shade while we rest."

Frodo and Sam shambled over to the indicated tree and sunk carefully to the ground, leaning their backs against its smooth, silver bole. The leaves were knitted like a golden canopy above their heads, sheltering them from the undiluted brightness of the afternoon Sun.

"Ah, that is much, much better," Frodo opined.

"That it is," Sam concurred. "It's just what we were after."

"Mmm," Frodo crooned with a sound of inarticulate gratification.

"It's so nice right here in this spot, I feel like I can't hardly keep my eyelids propped up," said Sam sleepily.

"Mmm…" Frodo repeated unintelligibly. "Well, there's no harm in it," he added as an afterthought.

"No harm…no harm with me here. You just…take a load off…Mr. Frodo. I'll – I'll keep look-out," Sam mumbled.

"Look-out?" Frodo started, roused to a state of semi-alertness. "Whatever will you be looking out for? We are perfectly safe here. We could not hope to be in any safer place than this."

"So we are!" Sam replied sheepishly. "Ain't it queer that I should think of saying somethin' like that? The Sun must've clean done my head in, or else I'm just that tired. I thought for a moment there that we were out camping in the wilderness, like old times."

"Luckily for us there is none of the danger of the wild lands here. But it _is_ something like old times, isn't it? Travelling on foot, sleeping out-of-doors, tree roots in place of feather-beds," said Frodo with a quiet laugh at his last observation. "It almost makes one yearn for another adventure, doesn't it?"

"I don't know that I'd go quite _that_ far, Mr. Frodo," Sam sighed. "Seems to me that my adventurin' days are done and over – folks our age aren't cut out for that sort of to-do. I think maybe that I've seen enough of adventures for one lifetime. Or maybe it's this nice shady tree and this wholesome fresh air that's taken all the fight out of me."

"Well then, I suppose we shall have to see if your views have changed after you have rested!" Frodo rejoined. "I do hope that you might be willing to reconsider. Of course, you make many sound and reasonable points: it is true that poor dotards such as ourselves are in no shape for lengthy treks, nor do we have any business venturing into unfamiliar lands – just look at us, we can scarcely make it out of the front door and back without needing a nap! But the prospect of adventure _does_ enliven me, even now, though the window of opportunity for journeying has long closed. Not dark, perilous roads fraught with hardship and toil; I do not mean that sort of journey. But to walk in the open air by day and to gather round a campfire by night, to measure the hours by the length of our shadows and to navigate by the map of the stars, to leave behind homely comforts for the thrill of the unknown and the promise of lasting memories, those are the things that I find myself missing. That is what sets a fire in my belly and instills a longing in my heart, absurd as it may sound coming from one as old as I. And though I know that my body should undoubtedly fail me if I were to undertake such a thing, the will still persists. The adventurer's spirit lives on yet," Frodo finished, his tiredness momentarily forgotten by dint of the ardour of his speech.

"Do you know, you sounded like Mr. Bilbo just now," Sam drawled, his eyes flashing with inspiration drawn by Frodo's monologue. "And when you put it like that, it does sound like something to wish for. And who knows? Maybe we still have time for adventures yet."

"Maybe, Sam. But any adventure that we set out on now will be of a much different kind," Frodo answered sadly, leaning his head back against the trunk of the mallorn tree. If he had been waiting for a response, then he was disappointed, for Sam had given over to sleep at last.

XXXXX

Frodo opened his eyes, unable to remember having closed them in the first place, and took inventory of his surroundings with a sharpness of vision that was almost dizzying. In the short time it took him to adjust his eyes to the light and pull himself to a sitting position, he registered several sensory phenomena all at once. First was the crisp whispering of fallen leaves as he shifted his body and the feel of unyielding bark supporting his back. Next, he saw the faded gold of these spilled leaves all about him as if the contents of a treasure box had been poured out lavishly onto the ground and he was swimming in the midst of the riches. Lastly, and most sobering of all, was a voice at his side, striking his ear with a volume made greater by the relative quiet around him.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up," the voice said with a dash of ribbing impatience.

"I am sorry, Sam, I must have dozed off longer than I meant to. I wonder what the time is?" he said, brushing off a few errant leaves from his shoulders.

"Sam? No, my boy, I am afraid you are out of your reckoning there. Or are you so quick to forget your old uncle?"

"Bilbo?" Frodo cried, pivoting his body toward the sound of his voice.

"I should hope so!" Bilbo retorted, leaning back casually against the tree trunk, his hands laced together behind his head.

"So you have come to pay me another visit then," Frodo grinned. "To what do I owe the pleasure, I wonder?"

"What indeed! Mayn't an uncle drop in on his favourite nephew occasionally without having his motives called into question?" asked Bilbo, feigning indignation.

"He may," Frodo granted, "but when the aforementioned uncle can no longer be counted among the living where his nephew (presumably) can, it rather complicates things, does it not?"

"Why should it?" Bilbo shot back. "You know you really ought to listen to your friend Samwise a bit more attentively; now _there_ is a lad with a good head on his shoulders. In any case, I hope that you will forgive me for not submitting a formal request before coming to see you. Or perhaps my invitation was lost in the post?"

"All right, Bilbo, consider me thoroughly chastened," Frodo relented. "Hereafter I shall never doubt your intentions again, nor your ability to communicate with me as freely as if you were just in the neighbourhood."

"So you say, Frodo, but do not think that I cannot detect the jest in what you say. Is there not a little voice inside your head telling you that this is all just another dream?"

"I will admit, I had not entirely ruled out the possibility," Frodo hedged.

"As for that, you will have to judge for yourself, for it is not my role to persuade you one way or another," said Bilbo, assuming a more serious demeanor. "I have taught you all that I know and given you what wisdom that I have to offer, and goodness knows you have had many other teachers besides. It is entirely up to you how you choose to use such knowledge as you have gathered over all your years and so form your own opinions. You are a remarkably bright fellow, Frodo, and always have been, and I have every confidence in your ability to choose wisely and rightly."

"Your praise, Uncle, has ever been a source of great pride and honour for me and has motivated me to become as good and as worthy a hobbit as you would believe me to be, though I should almost certainly fall short of your high regard. From you, I have learned (among other things) the value of prudence and careful consideration, and so I believe I will withhold any judgment for the present. I am content to enjoy your company, such as it is, for as long as the powers-that-be will allow me. Though the circumstances are admittedly unusual, I cannot deny that being with you in any fashion is a privilege that I would endure any number of peculiarities for."

"I can ask for no fairer than that," Bilbo returned. "And anyway, it is too fine a day to be spent in solitude. A chap can get awfully lonely waiting for his companion to stir himself from sleep."

"Have I kept you waiting very long, Bilbo?" Frodo asked regretfully, his eyebrows pulling together in an expression of dutiful sympathy.

"No longer than I could bear," said Bilbo coolly. "Just as long as it has taken these leaves to fall." He picked one up by the stem, twirling it back and forth between his fingers placidly. Then he blew lightly on it, though one would have thought that it had been taken by a tremendous gust of wind, for it sailed far into the distance, pirouetting excitedly and swooping to and fro like the arc of a pendulum. And though he could not have sworn to it, Frodo thought that the leaf had at the last moment transformed into a bird – a canary perhaps, or a dove made golden by the rays of the Sun – and had flown away beyond the limits of sight.

"Is this the same tree that I was napping under when I went out walking with Sam?" Frodo asked, peering up at the denuded boughs.

"Does it look to be the same tree?" Bilbo posed.

"It has become a habit of yours to answer a question with another question, I have noticed," Frodo smirked. "But really, I do not know. It is difficult to tell one from another, although the Elves would no doubt take me to task for that particular observation. I _do_ know that the tree I was resting under was in full flower when I approached it, and this one is nearly bare."

"Very nearly, yes. But not quite, you'll see." Looking upward again, Frodo saw that this was true: a few sparse but beautiful leaves clung to the branches still.

"I suppose that they must fall too, before long," said Frodo, and was smote by an unexpected sadness.

"In time," said Bilbo softly.

"And you will be here to watch it happen?"

"Yes."

"But I – I must be going back now, mustn't I?"

Bilbo nodded wordlessly.

"But…will I see you again? Before the last leaf falls, I mean?"

But just then, Frodo's vision grew fuzzy and indistinct, and all was a jumble of hurrying colour and an indecipherable flurry of white noise, and the world became formless, structureless, and without sense or meaning. That was when blackness descended.

XXXXX

"_Goheno nin, mellyn_," a not altogether foreign voice spoke. "I am sorry to wake you."

Sam sat up at once, blinking rapidly, while Frodo beside him was slower to respond.

"Well, if it isn't Calaeron!" Sam announced, forgetting himself for a moment in his stupefaction (ordinarily he would have found himself desperately tongue-tied in the presence of any of the Elves, whether they had been acquainted or not). As it happened, Calaeron was an Elf that they had befriended many years before on a night of certain crisis and who they had had a handful of run-ins with in the intervening time.

"Calaeron!" Frodo exclaimed, fighting back the wooziness that adhered to him as fast as a cobweb. "_Nae saian luume'_."

"Too long, indeed, _mellon-nin_," Calaeron answered, his beryl blue eyes trained warmly on the obviously sleep-stricken hobbits. "In fact, I was at your very doorstep mere moments before hoping that I might have an audience with you."

"I am sorry that we were not there to answer your call," said Frodo, pulling his travelling-cloak around himself involuntarily. "You see, Sam and I were just having a bit of an afternoon stroll, and it proved to be a deal more wearying than we had bargained for."

"So it would appear," said Calaeron with a smile. "And it pained me to disturb you from your slumber, peaceful as you were. But I have come on an errand of some importance, and as chance brought me to you, I could not simply pass you by."

"I am glad that you did not bypass us, or else Sam and I should have slept under this tree until the rising of the Moon or later. But tell me more of this errand."

"I certainly shall; but should we not first remove ourselves to somewhere more comfortable where we may talk with greater ease?" asked Calaeron, noting the way that Frodo was huddled tightly under his cape.

"How terribly ungracious of me," Frodo chided himself. "Of course, you are right, friend Calaeron. This is hardly a suitable place for a meeting of old friends – and here we have not even stood up to greet you!"

At these words, Sam flushed to the gills and jumped to his feet with a nimbleness and an alacrity that was not at all in keeping with one of so many years. Calaeron laughed musically at Sam's panicked reaction and went on to clarify himself.

"If there is anyone who should bear out the sentence of being ungracious, it is I, for I have deprived you who are grown weary from the rest that you desired," said Calaeron, offering a hand to Frodo as he got to his feet. Something in his eyes seemed to betray a sudden disquiet as Frodo laid his hand in his palm, but he continued with no discernible change in inflection. "But I assure you, I was giving thought to your own comfort and not my own when I suggested that we relocate. Trust me when I say that there has been no breach of propriety on your part; so do not feel obliged to jump to attention, Master Samwise, as proof of your courtesy. It has already been proven many times over, and I would not see one that I hold as a friend abashed before me when he has committed no wrong."

"Yes, Sam, I cannot remember the last time I have seen you move so swiftly!" Frodo echoed. "I did not mean to incite you to it – it was only myself that I was finding fault with. But now I wonder if the suggestion of the Springle-ring was really as out of the question as I believed this morning," he said, winking roguishly. "But that is a matter for another time. Well, Calaeron, we might go back to my and Sam's home and talk further, if you wish. Though I must warn you, you may find us rather more slow-going than when last you met us – do not let Sam's demonstration deceive you!"

"That is no hardship, Frodo. But perhaps you would prefer to retire to my house: the distance is shorter and I could arrange for a carriage to bear you home when we are through."

"That is very kind of you. I will happily follow you, so long as Sam finds the arrangement agreeable," he said, looking to him for confirmation.

"Well, you don't have to ask me twice!" Sam said exuberantly. There was an answering spate of laughter as the trio moved out from under the shade of the tree and on to Calaeron's dwelling-place. As they left, Frodo cast a final backward glance at the mallorn tree and drew his cloak around him though the Sun was still high in the sky.

XXXXX

**Elvish Translations:**

_Goheno nin, mellyn_ – Forgive me, friends

_Nae saian luume_' – It has been too long

_Mellon-nin_ – My friend

**Author's Note: **Calaeron is an OC that was introduced in "Into the Arms of Forever" for those who have not acquainted themselves with the fic. Also, my next update might not come quite as soon as this one for personal reasons (and because I had written some of this chapter in advance), but I will do my best to turn out the next chapter with all due speed!


	4. Tea-Time With Calaeron

**Chapter 4: Tea-Time With Calaeron**

Frodo and Sam alternately walked abreast their Elvish guide and lagged indolently behind him, though Calaeron deliberately slowed his gait and paused often as a courtesy to them. At times, the Elf would leave left distance enough between himself and the hobbits so that they could speak in confidence, for he knew that Sam was less likely to loosen his tongue while he was close at hand.

"Imagine, Mr. Frodo, us leaving our door this morning to end up in an Elf home!" said Sam ebulliently, supposing that Calaeron was out of earshot. "I wonder what it'll be like. The way I always picture it, there'd be waterfalls that spill into lily-ponds in the front parlour, like as not, and ceilings made of glass so that you can look up at the sky by day and the stars by night. And there'd be a great big room with a golden harp with silver strings right in the centre, and a library with shelves and shelves of leather-bound books, and velvety cushions in the sitting-room, and a table a mile long to seat the guests."

"Would that I could boast of such luxurious accommodations!" Calaeron said as the hobbits unknowingly caught up with him, unable to remain silent having heard Sam's impassioned dialogue – for the space that separated them was not nearly so great that his sharp ears could not pick up what had been said. "Alas, I am afraid that my home will not be able to match your expectations and may seem rather more commonplace than what you have envisioned, Samwise. But it is comfortable and well-kept, and though the ceilings are not fashioned of glass, there are windows many enough to keep the rooms full of light all throughout the day. And though my table may not seat nearly so many as you would like, it is generously laid and will sufficiently suit our purposes, I hope."

"It sounds very fine indeed, and I am sure we will be in no measure disappointed, even after hearing what Sam has so colourfully imagined," Frodo chimed in. "Though I should very much like to visit a place as extraordinary as what you describe, Sam, if indeed such a place exists; but then, of course, this will not be our first time being invited into Elvish quarters, for we have stayed with the Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrían and already know a thing or two of the many charms of your households."

"Then you have already seen far greater than what I have to offer," Calaeron replied. "But I do not think you will be dissatisfied, despite that. We are nearly there now."

Heartened by this declaration, they ploughed forward with renewed vigour; but the fact that Frodo was still clutching at his cloak to draw it more closely about his shoulders had not escaped Sam's notice.

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True to his word, the brigade came to a high house on a greensward with long, panelled windows that looked out onto emerald fields and the distant line of the Sea. There was a second-storey balcony with a white balustrade (which the hobbits did not much care to see any closer than at ground level due to their inherent antipathy toward heights) and a little stable off to one side where Calaeron housed his carriage horses.

"Here we are, _mellyn_," said Calaeron, standing on the threshold and holding the door open for his guests. "I hope that it will please." And he bowed slightly at the waist as the hobbits passed through.

Stepping into the entrance hall, the first thing that one noticed was the purity of the light as it streaked through the vaulted windows and invested the room with a whiteness stunning to behold.

"_If I ever wanted to know what it'd be like to be inside Lady Galadriel's star-glass, this is about as close as I could wish for_," Sam thought, looking around as one bewitched. And it was a fair comparison, for it seemed to the hobbits that the room ahead was more window than wall, and that the panes of fitted glass were like to crystal as they sparkled with the sunshine.

"If you would, master hobbits, please follow me this way to the tea-room," said Calaeron, having given them a moment to take in their new setting.

They passed into the adjoining room which boasted walls as white as pearl and a hearth of many-coloured stone at the far end. It was a simply but elegantly furnished space with white wicker chairs and a round table overlaid with a sheened ivory cloth. There was a beautiful floral centrepiece and long-stemmed candles to decorate the table-top, a chandelier hung from the ceiling, and windows with roseate drapes on either side of the fireplace. Above the mantel was a portrait of an Elf maiden with a skin so fair and eyes so exquisitely illustrated by the painter's brush that one almost thought that she could have moved within the frame if she had chosen.

"What a marvelous home you have here," Frodo declared as Calaeron drew out a chair for him and performed the same service for Sam.

"I am very glad that it is to your liking. But I wonder what Master Samwise thinks now that he has seen it firsthand."

"Well, I…I don't think I have the words to say it," said an overcome Sam.

"Then I will take the expression on your face as a mark of your approval," Calaeron responded. "Now then, I will go and fetch the kettle and some other refreshments and I will disclose to you the nature of the errand which brings us all together."

"You are more than kind, Calaeron," said Frodo genteelly, "but I wonder if you wouldn't mind if I started a fire in the hearth while you are away. Old age has a way of thinning the blood, you see, and being quite unused to being outdoors for long periods–"

"Say no more! I will see to it myself, if you please," he interjected.

"If I may, Calaeron, sir," Sam put in timidly, "I'd be happy to tend to the fire. It wouldn't be no trouble, and you've already gone to so much trouble for our sakes as it is."

"Assuredly not, Master Samwise! But if it is your will, I shall not deny you, though it is against my custom to have guests do for themselves what I would sooner do for them myself. Nay, I do not mean to reproach you, for your intent, as always, is honourable," he qualified himself, seeing Sam's face redden of its own accord. "Please, be at your leisure to do as you wish, for my home is yours also. I will return momentarily," And with a swish of his robes, the dark-haired Elf vanished through the doorway.

When he had gone, Sam pushed back his chair and hunkered down in front of the hearth, setting about his task directly. As he worked at igniting the first spark, he wondered absently if the flames would rise in tongues of blue or green or some other unnatural colour owing to some remnant Elvish magic, but the fire, when it sprang up, was of quite the ordinary sort. With his back still to Frodo, he spoke to him as the logs crackled jauntily.

"You saw Mr. Bilbo again, didn't you?" he asked, turning his head slightly over his shoulder, though it was more a statement than it was a question. "Back underneath that tree, while you were sleepin'. He came to you again, didn't he?"

"Wha – well…well, yes. Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. But however did you guess?" said Frodo, caught off-guard.

"Never mind, sir, it's not important how. Let's just say when you know someone as long and as well as I've known you, the signs are easy enough to read if you're payin' attention. There's naught that gets by your Sam when he's on the look-out, and that's a fact! But are you feeling all right, Mr. Frodo, hand on heart?"

"Hand on heart, Sam, I am just fine – better than fine. The Sun has already driven out the better part of the cold; really, it has. And with your fire going and a cupful of hot tea, I shall be as good as new. It will be as if nothing had ever happened at all, I'm sure."

"All right, Mr. Frodo. I'll take your word for it. We can talk more about it later when we're alone, if you've a mind" said Sam, rising to his feet and taking his chair once again. Frodo sighed unexpectedly, fixing his eyes upon the fire with a preoccupied stare.

"I miss him, Sam," he said meaningfully, unable to speak further and, indeed, needing no other words to convey the depth of his feeling.

"I know," Sam whispered, grabbing hold of Frodo's hands and pressing them empathetically. At length, they heard the delicate tread of Calaeron's feet and disentangled their fingers, though much was still exchanged between the two of them as they looked at one another, their eyes refusing to break contact as quickly as their hands.

Calaeron set a tray down between them which held a copper kettle, an assortment of breads, sweetmeats, and various confections for their consumption. There were frosted cakes and sugared plums, buttery crescent rolls and apple turnover, jars of honey and bowls of sweet cream – in sum, enough to satiate even the most rapacious of hobbit appetites. The hobbits reached for their cups and showered their host with profuse thanks as Calaeron seated himself with his back to the fire.

"What a lively blaze you have started, Master Samwise," Calaeron acknowledged.

"I s'pose you could say I know a thing or two about making a fire back from my travelling days," said Sam, smiling shyly.

"To be sure," said Calaeron. "I hope that the both of you are now well at your ease. Do not worry, I shall not keep you long, for I know that you are weary from the day's trip. But in the meantime, please, do not be shy; help yourself to the refreshments. Take freely and without reserve, for there is plenty more to be had, if you require it."

"Heavens, you have already gone above and beyond!" Frodo cried, putting down his teacup. "Even in our younger days we would have been hard pressed to clear such an ample platter – though goodness knows we would have given our level best! That notwithstanding, I think I may speak for the both of us when I say that we are both very comfortable here, and all the more with the excellent provender before us and the friendship of our most hospitable host beside us."

"That is fairly said, Frodo, and it humbles me that I should be the recipient of your compliments," said Calaeron. "But I suppose that you must be wondering why I have gathered you here, aside from the pleasure of being in your midst – and the fact that the hour that I should have received you as my guests has been too long deferred."

"Now, you mustn't diminish my compliments with needless self-reproofs, for your services as our friend are such that I cannot repay, and any failings on your part are entirely illusory. But I _am_ rather curious about this errand that you have hinted at."

"Then let me delay the moment no further. I was bidden to come to you at Gandalf's behest. He will be coming soon to Eressëa himself and will make for the city of Avallónë upon his arrival. It is his earnest hope that you will go with him," Calaeron reported. At the mention of Gandalf's name, Sam stopped chewing on the cake that he had sampled and nearly forgot to swallow as he listened, rapt, to the remainder of Calaeron's message.

"Avallónë," Frodo contemplated aloud.

"Well, what do you know?" Sam said, having had the wherewithal to gulp down his cake by this point. "If we weren't just talking about the very thing not moments before Calaeron turned up, though we hadn't any particular place in mind. It'll be like an _adventure_, just like you hoped for," he glowed, unable to suppress his enthusiasm.

"Very like, I shouldn't wonder," Frodo said in a distracted manner. "But what brings Gandalf to Avallónë? I suppose he left that piece of information out," he said, meeting Calaeron's eye in a way that implied that he had long suffered the deliberate equivocations and maddening closeness of wizards.

"I am afraid that that has not been made known to me," Calaeron conceded.

"That does not surprise me. Well, I can think of no reason to refuse, save perhaps the impediment of my age; but I am sure if Gandalf asks it, then he has some greater purpose which I should not (and would not) turn down."

"I am sure that he has taken provisions to ease your and Sam's travel. He sails on the night of the new moon, and he asks that you be ready at the Sun's rising the following morn."

"Very good, we shall certainly be in attendance on the appointed morning, though I don't suppose that there is any way of informing him of our acceptance."

"Ah, but you forget that Gandalf is fluent in a great many languages, and among them the speech of birds and beasts are in his command. For you see, that is why he did not deliver his message to you directly; you would have not understood such messengers as he sent."

"Well, I must say, the thought had never even occurred to me!" Frodo admitted. "But I suppose I should have known better. We have been so long in friendship that I am apt to forget the extent of his wisdom and the manifold powers that he possesses. Well, I suppose he will know to expect us then, and I shall look forward to the day with great eagerness!" Frodo tilted his cup to his lips and relished in the strength of the Elvish brew.

"He will be glad to know it, I'm sure," said Calaeron. The three friends supped together in quiet amity for a space when Frodo's eyes strayed toward the picture above the mantel that he had noticed when first entering the room.

"Calaeron, if I am not being too forward in asking, who is the lady that is pictured there?"

Calaeron looked into the hollow of his drained cup and smiled faintly.

"One who I have known since the world was young and the stars shone with new light," he said, turning his head toward the painting. "Her name is Haeronel, and like me, she is one of the Teleri. But when our people were summoned by the Valar to the West, she chose instead to remain in Middle-earth and would not be gainsaid. I it was that have attempted to reproduce her likeness with imperfect stroke, for I have held her image in my mind for age upon age. And though I have not looked upon her for time immemorial, her face remains unfaded in my memory."

"She is very beautiful," said Frodo reverentially. Sam bowed his head, though whether it was to express his agreement with Frodo's statement or because his heart had been touched by Calaeron's account was uncertain.

"She is indeed," said Calaeron. "And yet, this representation is but a dim shadow of her true loveliness, for beauty such as hers cannot be passably rendered onto canvas by any artist's hand, no matter how skilled. What colour in my limited palette could capture the shades of night that streamed through her hair or the brilliance of her eyes as they reflected the moon and the stars that she so loved? What motion of a brush could do justice to the soft contours of her face as the light fell upon it or the effortlessness of her grace as she walked among the trees at dusk? But forgive me, I am getting carried away with myself; I did not ask you to my table so that you could listen to the idle poetry of a hopeless romantic."

"She must have been very dear to you, to have held you under her spell for all of these years," Frodo remarked.

"Spell, you say? Maybe that is so, for I have had no eyes for no one since and never again shall, I am certain," he said, as a pregnant pause ensued. "But enough of these timeworn tales. I should not be dwelling on things of the past when there are present matters to attend to; namely, that the Sun is now on the decline and you will surely be desirous of the comfort of your own house. You need not deny it!" he said, seeing Frodo's mouth open as though to protest. "I do not flatter myself that I am such a host that could put to flight all thoughts for home. You are tired, and would sooner than late return to the respite which I have disrupted," he said as his eyes flashed toward Sam whose head was still bowed so that his chin had dropped nearly to his chest. The effect of Calaeron's words was immediate; Sam's head rose quick as a flash the way that one does when he has become suddenly aware that he had been tacitly referred to.

"Your pardon, Calaeron sir," Sam stammered, "I was just woolgatherin' as you might say, and hadn't any thought for sleep. Though now as you mention it, I'd not turn down a bit of shut-eye if it was bein' offered."

"And I would not refuse it you. I will ready the carriage for our departure, and I ensure a ride as smooth and as swift that mayhap you will find rest even as the road moves under your feet."

"We have no doubt of it," said Frodo. "Fortunate are you who are ageless, Calaeron, for such fretful weariness occasioned by everyday tasks need never be known to you. It used to be that being in the company of your people made me feel as young as a new-planted sapling, but it is not quite so anymore, though I know that your years vastly outscore mine."

"You are indeed still very young in my eyes, and the span of your life in this world seems to me only a drop in the vast ocean of time. But we Elves grow weary too for reasons of our own."

With that, Calaeron cleared the plates, cups, and uneaten foods, roundly refusing the assistance that the hobbits' extended, and prepared the coach for their leave-taking with all speed.

XXXXX

The hobbits did not, as Calaeron presaged, surrender to sleep as the steady clip-clopping of hooves and the slow revolutions of the carriage-wheels sounded before and below them, but instead spoke in low voices to one another. Incidentally, Frodo might have easily dozed off if he had been given the chance, but Sam's mind had evidently been so roused by all that he had learned that afternoon that he could not postpone the conversation.

"Well, Mr. Frodo, it seems that such an uncommon lot has happened today that I don't know what to make of it all, nor where to even begin!" he opened, his eyes exhibiting a mixture of youthful astonishment and pensive sobriety in equal measures.

"It has certainly been an unusually eventful day, hasn't it?" Frodo agreed. "Indeed, I fear there is far too much to speak of in such a short trip."

"You're right, Mr. Frodo, and maybe I shouldn't have started in just now, but it's all just bouncing around in my head so as I can't think of anything else at the moment. For starters, I wonder what old Gandalf meant by asking us to the Elvish city? Not that I'm not grateful for the chance to see more of the country. But I remember that city specially, since it was the first one that I set foot on when the ship what brought me here made port."

"I remember Avallónë quite distinctly as well, for the very same reason," said Frodo. "Whatever Gandalf means by it, you can be sure that it will be an occasion of no small moment, for such has always been his way."

"Rightly said! And anyway, I reckon it'll do us some good to be out and about again. When you talked about all the excitement that comes of adventuring today, I think now it's finally hitting me now that the door is open, if you follow."

"I am glad to hear that you have amended your former feelings toward adventures!" Frodo said approvingly. "But that reminds me of something that I was meaning to ask you. Earlier today, while we were speaking with Calaeron, I recall you saying that he happened upon us only moments after our talk under the mallorn tree."

"Aye, that I did," Sam nodded.

"How do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, it couldn't've been long; I was out for not more'n forty winks. Why, it seems as though I'd barely closed my eyes at all before Calaeron came by."

"Huh," Frodo said, consideringly. "How very strange. I should have thought that I'd been out much longer than that. Hours it might have been, for all I could tell."

"I'm afraid it couldn't-a been, sir; it was a minute if it was an hour, that much I'm sure of."

"I see. Well, I suppose it matters little," he said uncertainly.

"Maybe, but what happened after – that cold creeping back in – _that_ mattered a good deal to me," said Sam seriously. Frodo clapped a hand over one of Sam's as it rested on the cushioned seat.

"I know, Sam." But at that moment, the carriage came to a halt, signifying that they were home.

XXXXX

Calaeron helped the two hobbits out of the carriage and saw them to their front door, all three exchanging bows and bandying courteous parting words to one another.

"_Namárië_, Frodo and Sam; it has been a joy and a delight receiving you this day."

"_Namárië_, Calaeron, the pleasure has been all ours. We really must have you here when next we meet so that we may attempt to return the favours that you have shown us," said Frodo.

Calaeron bowed one last time and turned to go; but before he taken more than three steps, Sam called out to him, prompting the Elf to turn his head over his shoulder.

"Thank you again, Master Calaeron. I hope that you see her again someday, the lady in the picture." A small, close-lipped smile displayed itself on Calaeron's face.

"Thank you, Master Samswise. I appreciate the sentiment. Alas, I fear that for me, she is destined to remain a picture in a frame and no more."

"P'rhaps, but then there's always hope, isn't there? One thing I've found is that good things come to those as can wait, and it seems to me that your folk are better about waiting than most. I always reckoned that Elves don't mind so much about time seeing as how there's no shortage of it. I had to wait before coming here to be with Mr. Frodo, but I came at last, though it seemed a long time. Maybe it'll be the same with her, with some luck," he said, venturing a grin, but, seeming to think better of it, dropped his gaze to his feet.

"In this, you speak wisely, Sam," Calaeron replied, as Sam lifted his eyes again. "Hope indeed endures, however slender it may be. I will remember your words when my heart repines and thank Eru for the gifts that have been given me and the wishes he has already fulfilled. Wishes such as yours," he said, looking at Sam with twinkling eyes. "And now, farewell, friends! _I Melain berio le_!"

Frodo and Sam waved good-bye and shut the door to, then plopped themselves down on the settee, putting their feet up carelessly.

"So that's that," Sam declared, settling into the pillowed seat. "And what a day it's been! Funny, I thought a little while ago I could go on jawing about it all through the night. But now I'm home, all I really feel like doing is having a nice long sleep."

Frodo, however, was well ahead of him, for his eyes had closed the moment he had propped up his feet. His head had fallen slightly to one side as he breathed in the measured, even way that peaceful sleepers breathe. As Sam looked at Frodo's face, he could yet see unmistakable vestiges of the hobbit that he had known in Middle-earth when he had been in the flower of his age. He could see it in the angled line of his jaw and the cleft in his chin, the slope of his nose and the curl of his lashes, he saw it in the fairness of his skin tone and his brow uncreased now he was at rest. In fact, the healing virtues of sleep had seemed to erase nearly all tokens of his age so that Sam wondered if he had slipped into a waking dream or somehow travelled backward in time. Convinced at last that he had done neither, Sam reached behind him, grabbing the throw blanket draped over the sofa and spread it over Frodo where he lay. Such love flooded the vastness of his gentle heart as he tucked in his one-time master that he could have wept had he not been so close to sleep himself.

"Sweet dreams, Frodo dear."

And curling up on his side, Sam waded into the blissful waters of unconsciousness.

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**Elvish Translations:**

_Mellyn _- friends

_Namárië _- Farewell

_I Melain berio le_ – May the Valar keep you (courtesy of arwen-undomiel dot com)

**Author's Notes:**

The name of Calaeron's beloved, "Haeronel," was provided by elf dot namegeneratorfun dot com and means "far, remote, or distant."

Whether or not Gandalf was conversant in "bird speech" is perhaps debatable, but considering that Radagast could converse with birds at will and that Saruman used them as spies for his own dark purposes suggests that Gandalf might feasibly be equipped with a similar skillset. That the Elves could interpret the language of birds is probably a bigger leap to make (as I infer Calaeron is able to do). If so, then I will have to invoke the right to artistic license on that account! Apologies if this gives the impression of being inconsistent with Tolkien's representation of the abilities of Wizards and/or Elves.

Sam's statement to Calaeron that Elves "don't mind so much about time" is deliberately meant to echo Tolkien's words in the previously unpublished epilogue (the second version) as it appears in The End of the Third Age (The History of the Lord of the Rings, Part 4) wherein he writes [as Sam]: "Before he went Mr. Frodo said that my time maybe would come. I can wait. I think maybe we haven't said farewell for good. But I can wait. I have learned that much from the Elves at any rate. They are not so troubled about time."


	5. A Night of Illumination

**Chapter 5: A Night of Illumination**

It was not the sunny warble of thrushes nor the pale arm of early dawn that Frodo woke to, but the chirruping of crickets orchestrating their nocturnal sonata and a darkness that would have been complete if not for the crescent moon hung like a gleaming sickle. Blinking away the sleep in his eyes, he saw Sam lying next to him, a little shadowy mound in unbroken repose on the settee. His knees were slightly drawn up and his arms were hugged against his chest as though to protect himself against the night chill. As quietly and as carefully as he could, Frodo removed the blanket that he had been swaddled in and draped it lightly over Sam, then he crossed the room to have a peek out the window. It was seldom that he saw the glory of Eressëa after nightfall, and he was not about to allow the opportunity to pass him by.

Looking outward, Frodo thought that the very stars in the sky had descended upon the earth and were flashing and winking at him joyfully in glittering clusters of scattered pixie-dust. He lifted a four-fingered hand slowly to the window-pane and pressed his palm against the cool glass and saw that the swarms of light were not stars as he had at first supposed but the glow of fireflies innumerable. But these fireflies were unlike any that he had ever seen before, for instead of giving off a low, yellow-green luminescence, these emitted lights like silver and gold starbursts, and Frodo could have almost believed that he was looking at thousands of flickering lanterns stringed on invisible thread.

Noiselessly, he moved away from the window and edged toward the front door. Stealing a glance over his shoulder at Sam, he turned the knob, squinting lest it should give him away with a telltale creak or a groan, and he stepped outside into the pageant of light.

Walking down the front pathway time seemed to lag as he spun slowly around, feeling very much like he had wandered onto a stage in the middle of a spectacular performance and was now taking his place in a dance that had been composed at the very dawning of the world. He lifted an arm that one of the magical creatures might alight on his outstretched fingers, but they floated by dreamily, staying to the choreography that they had long practiced. The lights swirled enchantingly around him in every direction and his eyes roved about without pause so as not to miss a single detail. Then, in mid-circle, he focussed on a point somewhere outside the arched gateway that stood at the far end of the path. Something very like a silhouette had appeared to be standing just outside the front gate.

He pressed forward with wary steps, the fireflies illuminating his way, and stopped at the location that his eye had marked. As the lighted dancers drew nearer to him, he saw at his feet a shadow splayed across the ground cast by someone or something that he could not see.

"Bilbo? Is that you?" he said, sotto voce. But the fireflies spiraled away, and the shadow was dispelled as though on a capricious breeze.

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In his dream, Sam was flying high above land and Sea. Rivers flew past him like strands of unspooled ribbon and trees raced beneath him in hurrying green specks. He wheeled past mountains that seemed no higher than raised hillocks and soared above valleys whose long miles were covered in two blinks of an eye. He saw streamers of smoke rising from chimney-tops and city standards waving on the pinnacles of mighty towers. He saw woodland wilds and stony gorges, falling cataracts and flowered meadows; he saw peopled lands and desolate country, scenes that lifted his spirits and others that filled him with an unfathomable sadness. Then, he came to the borders of a land that made his heart quail for very sight of it. Steeped in shadow it was; joyless, cheerless, a barren waste in irremediable decay. But he must enter it. Yes, he must fly forth into that accursed stronghold.

An evil tower with sheer walls as cold and black as obsidian loomed into view, and with it, a volcanic mountain that disgorged a steady outpouring of sickly vapour. The air itself seemed to tremble around him with a deafening noise as he infiltrated the hateful place. He saw now that the sound was not imagined, but that the earth was opening up as though to eradicate that blemish which had sullied its face for too long. Currents of slow-rolling fire coursed down the craggy mountainside as dourly as blood trickles from a wound. Faster he sped as a fierce heat enveloped him, a heat so strong he could smell it in his nostrils and taste it in the back of his throat. He took a steep nosedive, leaving his stomach somewhere far behind him, as a little figure sprawled on the rock materialized in the choking smoke. He scooped him up into his arms and pressed him to his breast as he ascended back into unpolluted air, breaking through the reeking barrier like an arrow that had been let fly from a heroic archer's bow. The one that he had rescued opened his eyes, and seeing the face of his saviour, lit up so that the grime and the dirt on his face cracked and fell away in cindery fragments. The skin underneath was smooth and fair almost to the point of translucence, much as it is when a scab is shed and a new skin is uncovered. He buried his face against Sam's neck. And Sam set his sights on the setting Sun, for he knew there lay a land more wondrous than any he had seen from this height, and it was calling to him.

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Sam awoke with a weightless but decidedly vertiginous feeling and saw that the room was blanketed in an inky darkness. He pulled himself to sitting and, turning his head to the right, saw the slight indentation on the sofa cushions where Frodo had lain. Almost, he gasped, but his hand came down on the warm blanket he had been covered in and a sense of calm returned to him.

"_He must've known what he was about if he saw to me before he took off_," he reasoned. Still, Sam could have hardly been blamed for his initial fearfulness, for it would not be the first time that Frodo had gone missing in the dead of night. But that time, he had been in a sleepwalker's trance and perfectly insensible to the maunderings of his itinerant feet. Now it seemed that Frodo was in full possession of his wits, or else he would have hardly taken thought for arraying Sam in the coverlet. But seeing the front door open just as it was that ill-fated night started Sam's pulse racing uncontrollably once again, and he picked himself up from the settee with a grunt.

Standing within the doorframe, he found himself spellbound for one fleeting moment as the fireflies twinkled and danced before his eyes, but concern for his friend ultimately prevailed over his sense of wonder. He did not have to look far, for there was Frodo at the end of their front pathway, stock-still.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam called to him.

Frodo was slow to respond to the sound of Sam's voice at first. Even from behind, Sam could see the way his body was unnaturally tensed and his hands were balled up at his sides in tight, impermeable fists, almost as though he was anticipating a blow and bracing himself against its landing. Frodo's name was on the tip of his Sam's tongue, ready to be unleashed at a second's notice, but his rigidity of pose visibly lessened as his fingers unflexed and he turned in an about-face, making Sam's jaw snap back shut.

"It's all right, Sam. Come out and have a look," he said, holding out his arm to him.

Sam hobbled over to Frodo unsteadily, throwing cursory glances about the lawn, lit as it was like a fairground, and stood before him, relieved.

"There you are. You had me worried there for a moment, I must say. But no harm done, luckily, and I'm grateful for it," said Sam.

"Look at it, Sam. Look around you!" Frodo said, as though he had not heard him. Sam _did_ look this time, _really_ looked, and a shiver ran the length of his spine. "Isn't it beautiful?" Frodo whispered. Sam could only give a short nod, for his heart was in his mouth. "Imagine that all this was taking place right outside our front door, and we might've never even known it. All of this beauty just beyond our sight, if we had only opened our eyes to it…" he meandered. "Sam, I am feeling a bit light-headed; perhaps we ought to sit down and enjoy the view from the porch," he suggested. Sam snapped out of his daze at once, and found his voice.

"Good idea, Mr. Frodo; I'm feeling much the same way, as a matter of fact," he said.

Linking arms, they went back up the flagstone path and deposited themselves in their accustomed chairs.

"There we are," Frodo said with an exhalation of breath. "That is more like it. Are you all right, Sam?"

"Better now I'm off my feet, and you're here safe and sound. But what about you?" Sam asked, scanning his face.

"I am well, Sam, and I am sorry if I gave you a fright; that was not my intention. I did not wish to disturb you from sleep, and one thing led to the next… and though it may not excuse me, I felt as though I was being drawn outside as a moth is to a flame, and that I simply could not stay locked indoors with all of this happening," he said, with a broad sweep of his arm.

"I can't say as I blame you," Sam confessed. "But you see, it looked like maybe you were wandering somewhere further off, and that got my heart going for a minute. Lor', you must think me a hopeless old worrywart for taking on so, but there's naught for it, I suppose." Frodo was silent, as though turning something over in his head.

"You were right, Sam," he said at last. "Earlier today, I mean, on our afternoon stroll, when I asked you that peculiar question. Do you remember? It seems almost an age ago now. But you were right. The realm of the living is no fit home for the great host of souls that have shrugged off the cloak of mortality."

The light of the fireflies reflected fitfully in Frodo's opened eyes. In that moment, he was a creature of twilight, born of the universe illimitable, a seer of things veiled and distant. He resumed his speech.

"It is not ours to keep, this world. It is not our destiny to be confined here when the earth takes us and we leave our bodies behind to sleep their wakeless sleep. We must give it up. We must commit it to the keeping of those that will follow us. That is the way of things. So I once told you in like terms, ere we reached the Havens, and so it occurs to me again. Have not our entire lives prepared us for it – the relaying of the old tales, the passing of the torch to generations that will come after, the letting go of what we most cherish? We cannot forever hold on to the things that once defined us, that gave us form. We must relinquish the lives that we made for ourselves before we can ring in the new.

"But you were right also in saying that there is something that remains when we have gone. Bonds are forged, fellowships are made, lives are intertwined so that even death may not keep us from one another. There are such threads of life that run between us as may not be severed though death should take us – not the fine silken stuff of spider webs, but adamant like mithril chain-links – and it is these threads that bind us to those that we love and those that we have lost. It is not the world that holds them here, but _we ourselves_. The unconditional love between a parent and child, the unshakeable brotherhood between lifelong companions, the intimate blood-ties between family and the encompassing affinity between countrymen: these are the connexions that are unbreakable, the ties that join us together and allow us to share in one heart and to live in one blood. That is the reason for that strange and inexplicable feeling that comes over us when we feel that we have come in contact with someone who is no longer here – that feeling that we both have known when the wind against our ear becomes the breath of some beloved voice, or that prickling of flesh that occurs though there is no draught in the room or chill in the air. It is because they live within our very flesh. That is where the lines intersect, you see, where the road converges. And I have felt that contact; thrice today, I have felt it. I will not pretend to understand what it all means, but I think now I better understand the reasons why."

He fell silent, watching with unseeing eyes, as though framing some other thought that had not yet been given vent.

"Do you know what this night has reminded me of, Sam? It has reminded me that there is so much unseen beauty in this world lying in wait just beyond the limits of our sight that we have yet to discover. There is so much that we do not know, so much of which we are only dimly aware – but that only makes the learning all the more splendid. It makes the moment of illumination brighter and clearer when it comes, as potent and as resounding as the peal of trumpets but as sure and as sweet as the lifting of a heavy mist. It gives me strength to think that even after all that I have seen, there is still some new wonder not yet beheld, some flavour not yet tasted, a gift that waits to be opened when the proper time arrives. I am very glad of this night," he concluded.

"I'm glad of it too, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, his fingers folded across his stomach. "It makes my heart happy to hear you talk so. And, d'you know, tonight's reminded me of something as well, though p'rhaps not as grand or as high as what it's got you thinking. But it is very grand to me, in its own way, 'cause it's more like a memory, a memory of home if you'd like to know."

"I would, Sam, very much indeed. Please, tell me all about it," said Frodo indulgingly.

"Well, sir, it reminds me of the last night of the Lithe the year I was elected Mayor for the very first time. There was all the usual hubbub that comes with the Free Fair, like always: the vendors all set up on the White Downs with their carts full o' bits and bobs, little hobbit lads and lasses scampering about like all get-out and the poor Shiriffs trotting to and fro, seeing that some of the more rascally young'uns didn't pinch anything on the sly. Then a-course there was the feasting that seemed to go on every hour on the hour, and the music in the streets and the dancing at night. But that year I was so worked up about taking office that I couldn't rightly enjoy it all the way I usually would. I remember how once it'd been made official, Old Will Whitfoot gave me a rundown of all my responsibilities and a healthy dose of his own advice from all of his years serving, and it all seemed an awfully serious business at the time.

"Well, when all was said and done I didn't have much of a mind for celebrating, I can tell you. It was the last day of the Festival and here I was with my mind all taken up with the job at hand, though I hadn't even really begun it yet. It seems silly now that I'd get myself to such a point over something that didn't warrant so much fuss, especially when I'd seen through jobs a lot harder than that before, but there it was.

"It was the end of the night, the last night of Mid-summer, as I said, and the music had started up again. Elanor was dancing on the fields with Frodo-lad and minding little Rosie-lass, and Rose was chatting off to one side with some of the ladies with Merry-lad in her arms, so I snuck away for a moment to be alone with my thoughts. Well, I must've been gone longer than I reckoned for, because there was Rose come up right next to me. Gave me a bit of a start, I was that busy in my mind. 'Sam,' she says, 'what are you doing here all by yourself? The Festival is nearly over and you're nowhere to be found. Folks are startin' to wonder if you're getting cold feet!' 'Not this hobbit!' I says. 'I was just taking a minute and lost track of the time, seemingly. There's a lot to think about now I've got this new office.' Then she looks at me with these scoldin' eyes that'd like to put me in my right place, and she says: 'What could you have to think about? You've only just been sworn in, and a finer mayor these folk couldn't hope for. Here you are spending all this time worrying your head over nothing, and you can't even see what's right in front of you. Just look what you're missing out on.' Then she takes me by the arm and spins me round and I see just what she's talking about.

"There were the tents all lit up and the musicians at their instruments and hobbits leaping and bounding about without a care in the world. I saw my Elanor with flowers in her hair, dancing in a ring with her brother and sister (who was none too steady on her feet at the time, the dear thing) and Diamond holding baby Merry and lifting up his little arm to make like he was waving at me when I looked over. The night sky was so clear that it seemed like there were stars by the millions out that night; there warn't even a wisp of cloud in all that space as far as the eye could tell. And there were fireflies just like tonight – not as big and as bright as these, but the whole picture did a number on me all the same. I took Rosie by the hand right then and there and said, 'You're right, Rose love. I've been making a right fool of myself. I've been so much in my own head that I was forgettin' that what's most important was right here all along.' And we had a dance, my lass and me, 'neath the stars and with the fireflies all about us, and it is was one of the most perfect moments I've ever had."

Frodo smiled to himself, his inner being all aglow with the sweetness of Sam's simple tale. There was nothing that warmed his heart quite like stories such as these that came winging from the Shire, for they were to him like spoken proof of his own answered prayers. To hear of the promise of Sam's happiness fulfilled and to learn that the treasures that were his rightful due had been attained made his own sacrifice all the more worthwhile. The back-breaking weight of an unspeakable burden, the marrow-freezing pain of Morgul blade, the privation and the dearth that had been his constant companions, all of it had been justified in the end – the rewards that Sam and his kinsmen had reaped and the enduring prosperity of a country in its golden age had attested to that. He would have travelled twice the distance, endured a score of added torments, sustained wounds more grievous than those he already carried if only to see his country safe and unharmed and his Sam happy.

"Your Rose was a very wise lady indeed," Frodo said as Sam caught teardrops on the tips of his fingers.

"Aye. That she was," Sam said, with a snuffling sound. "But now, I s'pose it wouldn't do to stay out here all hours of the night." He braced his hands against the armrests of his chair and slowly got to his feet. "I think it's time we headed back inside. Coming, Mr. Frodo?" he queried, studying the thoughtful lines of Frodo's face.

"Half a moment, Sam. You go on without me; I shan't be long," said Frodo.

Sam paused in the doorframe for a moment, drinking in the last of this mystical night, his heart wrung with the memories that had been rekindled and the presentiment that he would never again see fireflies for as long as he should live. Then, he stepped inside the house, leaving the front door ajar.

Frodo sat with hands clasped between his knees, head bowed, still as a sentinel and silent as the moon. He was a graven image on the slab of night, an arresting sculpture in relief, a figure immortalized in celestial light. At first glance, one might have supposed that he had been frozen in a thinker's pose, locked in the grips of an abstruse question that he had wrestled with for many years; but the longer one regarded him, the more it appeared that he was not in conflict with himself at all but was in communion with the holder of a great wisdom. It may well have been that his head was bowed not in reflection but in worship, that his hands were folded not in idleness but in humble prayer.

He lifted his head and unstitched his fingers when his task, whatever it had been, was complete. Standing on his feet, he gripped the porch-rail and let the sound of his voice intrude upon the early morning calm one more time.

"I know that you are with me this night. Thank you for sharing it with me. I shall not keep you waiting very much longer," was all he said. The wind shifted, scattering the fireflies as they took their final curtain call, and a playful shadow danced fluidly underneath the outer arch, and then vanished. Frodo stepped inside the house and closed the door carefully behind him.

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Sam's dream resumed as though there had been no interruption, no space at all between the one and the next. He was sailing, sailing above the earth through gossamer strands of cloud in a sky of melted gold, his precious cargo held in his arms. Leagues of ocean flitted below him, the cresting waves honey-dipped by sundown, the undulant tides a rhythm in ceaseless motion. It all was as easy and as natural as breathing, and just as lovely.

A coastline of green came into view, and a cheerful little hamlet that Sam knew well. There were quaint little holes delved into the hillsides with round doors and well-travelled paths and flowerbeds by the dozens. Frodo freed himself from the enclosure of Sam's arms as they neared the place he loved above all others, but held fast to Sam's hand as he flew beside him. Little hobbit children dropped what they were doing and came sprinting out as Frodo and Sam's shadows flew over their upturned heads, waving their arms above them and cheering at them with broad smiles on their faces. Gardeners dropped their trowels and farmers halted their ploughs, wives paused with the washing half-hung on the line and lasses straightened from where they had been stooping to pick flowers. One and all came running, some racing nimbly and sure-footedly, others puffing along with unpracticed tramp. But they all came in their own time and at their own pace, following the airborne hobbits in a long train.

Then Sam saw a beautiful hobbit lass in a simple white frock whose head was crowned with golden ringlets, and she was holding her hand out to him. He closed the distance between them with Frodo in tow who offered no resistance, for he had understood Sam's design at once. Sam took Elanor's hand in his as they skimmed mere inches above the grass and lifted her off of her feet. But they did not climb back into the air just yet. Knowing him without ever having seen him, Frodo took the hand of Frodo Gardner as he came bustling from Bag End, a spitting image of Samwise himself. Others came flocking to them in great haste, some popping from their respective hobbit holes, some leaping from horse-drawn carriages, some perambulating through the countryside, and they too joined the aerial flight. One by one the Gamgee children linked hands so that when all were accounted for – Elanor, Frodo, Rosie, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast, Daisy, Primrose, Bilbo, Ruby, Robin, and Tom – they re-ascended as one great cavalcade heading always toward the sinking Sun.

There was a voice at Sam's ear, disembodied but infinitely dear, and the voice was a woman's. She was beckoning him, drawing him to her as she often would of an evening when the day's work was over and he was wanted. She was the guiding star directing his migrant soul, and she was summoning him home.

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**Author's Notes: **

In case there is any confusion, when Frodo says "So I told you once in like terms, ere we reached the Havens" to Sam when they are sitting on the porch, I am referring to his final speech in _Return of the King _in which he says [about things that are in danger], "some one has to give them up, to lose them, so that others may keep them."

The Lithe is the Mid-summer holiday celebrated in the Shire as detailed in the section "Of the Ordering of the Shire" in the Prologue to the Lord of the Rings. The details Sam enumerates about the Free Festival and its taking place on the White Downs come straight from the source material.

Lastly, my computer is being sent away for repairs this coming week and I will most likely be unable to do any significant writing until it is fixed (very dismaying for someone as computer-dependent as I am). I do seem to be running a bit low on steam lately, so I am hoping that the break will do me some good and that I will return from this brief hiatus recharged, refreshed, and generally reinvigorated. But rest assured, the story _will_ be continuing as soon as I am able - hopefully that will be sooner than later. If I do not post anything before then, have a wonderful holiday, readers, and enjoy seeing the first part of "The Hobbit" come to life on film (multiple times, if you're like me)!


	6. The Shouldering of Burdens

**Chapter 6: The Shouldering of Burdens**

The white jewel had changed hands a number of times as the Third Age retreated into the mists of time and gave rise to the Fourth, though its original keeper kept it long in her possession. It had once lay quiescent on the breast of the Lady Arwen as she waited with bated breath for the hour that her long-exiled King would wrest his crown from the hands of the Dark Lord and accept his birthright or else fall in the attempt. It was clutched urgently by the hands of Frodo in the throes of unliftable darkness as wraiths rounded upon him in dreams that savoured of reality. Now, it hung from the neck of Celebrían, wife of Elrond Half-Elven and mother to the Evenstar.

Many was the night that she took her vigil before the fanning flames of the hearth, grasping upon the coruscating gem so firmly that its outline was embossed upon her dove-white skin when she finally unhanded it. Its coolness would help to offset the rising heat of grief that still smouldered in the far chambers of her heart in fits and starts, its rounded sides and circular cut pledged renewal and eternal continuation when end-thoughts laid siege to her mind, its impervious beauty reminded her that some things need not be submitted to the rigours and the vagaries of time.

So she stood this night with her face toward the fire, an Elven woman in chiaroscuro, her expression unreadable, her eyes faintly twinkling. It was not surprising that she did not hear Elrond steal up behind her in this state of transfixion, but she gave no start as his hands descended gently on her shoulders and he marshaled her into a loose embrace.

"Does the night find you uneasy, my love?" he asked against the curvature of her ear.

She turned her head toward the direction of his voice, not quite meeting his eye, and released her hold on the stone, exchanging it for the strength that pulsed its steady metre in his fingers.

"No more than I can bear, El-nîn," she answered as their fingers twined reflexively. "For bear it I must."

"But you need not bear it alone," Elrond said, punctuating his point with a kiss on the top of her hand. "What troubles your mind, my lady?"

"It is more a question of a leaden heart than a troubled mind, my lord," she sighed. "Some nights, I feel as though a stone has settled on my chest that has such a weight behind it I wonder if I shall ever find strength enough to lift it."

"Then shift some of the weight to me, híril nîn, for the combined strength of we two together is greater than either one of us singly."

"But surely there is weight enough bearing down on your own heart without adding my own heaviness to yours," Celebrían vacillated.

"Not so, for we carry one and the same load and would do better to divide it between ourselves," Elrond suavely responded. Celebrían's head dropped a fraction, as though in implied concordance with Elrond's rejoinder, and she spun on her heels to look him in the eyes.

"I believe that I have reached a point where I can truthfully say that I am at peace with the decision our daughter has made. I have resigned myself to what may not be altered and found solace in the knowledge that Arwen has discovered her heart's match in Lord Aragorn, though such a love carries a heavy price. But the _uncertainty_, Elrond, not knowing the hour when the final stroke shall fall, or if indeed it has already fallen; that, my love, is a terrible burden on my heart. A parent should know," she said with faltering voice. She bit back on this rise of emotion, however, and redoubled the fortifications that she had built around her in case of such a precipitous attack. She continued in as even a voice as she could manage. "I wonder sometimes when my eyes burn with unprovoked tears if it is not some portent of her doom, or if the sudden seizing of my heart is not a mother's intuition informing me that my daughter is ailing. How long is it now that you sailed for these shores, my lord? Though Aragorn is gifted with long life far surpassing that of other men, surely the last sands are falling down the hourglass and his remaining days are swiftly fading. Has not your foresight informed you of his fate, or must you depend only upon hunches and unsubstantiated feelings as I do?"

"The hour has not been made plain to me, as I think you know," Elrond said heavily. "Often have I trained my mind on Middle-earth in the privacy of seclusion, casting my line blindly in the hopes of sinking my hooks into something I could grasp upon, but my long estrangement from that land has blurred what sight I once possessed, and its goings-on lay mostly hidden to me now."

"That is as I guessed," said Celebrían, crestfallen. "And Elladan and Elrohir? I suppose that, by the same reasoning, you could know nothing of their activity in the East?"

"Not with any exactitude, I'm afraid. But perhaps their absence here in Valinor may be taken as a sign that Arwen yet lives, for I doubt that they would leave her side as long as she continues to endure."

"Or perhaps they do not wish to come here at all if coming means that they must be heralds of their sister's death," said Celebrían morosely. Elrond dropped his eyes, for the notion had suggested itself to him as well.

"As I say, it is beyond our purview now. We cannot know for certain. But there have been far-flying messages from abroad that a ship is being mustered even as we speak, and it is setting sail for Elvenhome. It may not be very long now before our doubts are silenced and our questions answered. I shall be there to greet the new arrivals the moment that they touch upon these shores. Will you not come with me?"

From a look, it was clear that Celebrían was embroiled in a turbulent mental struggle, one that she had been engaged in long before Elrond had extended this invitation. The weighing of options, the counterbalancing of ramifications, the computing of likelihoods, all was whipping through her mind as furiously as a driving rain. She bit her lip and wrung her hands unconsciously, and finally blurted out:

"I cannot! No, Elrond," she said, curbing her excitement, her voice lowering to a more temperate volume. "I have not the strength for such a meeting. My heart should fracture afresh if our sons are not aboard that ship – and yet, if they _were_ to come, the news that they would bring with them would likely pull the world from under my feet and force me to my knees. No, if you are to go, then you must go for the both of us. I am sorry."

Elrond caressed the side of her face and tilted her chin upward. Here was no shrinking flower languishing in dark places, folding her petals timorously before the very light that gave her sustenance. Here was a lady as proud as she was fair, and he would not see her hang her head as one defeated.

"You need make no apology to me, my love," he said. "You have already demonstrated your strength in the face of sorrows you should have never known, and I would not see your mettle subjected to another test." His eyes automatically skimmed over the area below her neck where an orcish blade had left its indelible mark, a nacreous scar like a fault-line on an otherwise unblemished field of white.

"Strength? Mettle? What strength have I that surrendered to my hurts when the love of my family should have been as a balm to soothe my maladies? What mettle did I show when I fled across the Sea like a cowering animal seeking some refuge to lick its wounds? What courage is there in resignation, I ask you?" she snapped, her voice rising with increasing vexation. Elrond lowered his brow, regarding his wife with stern countenance.

"This talk of surrender and cowering does not suit you, Celebrían, and I pray that you remedy your speech," he said, taking her firmly by the shoulders. She averted her face as her last bulwarks of self-possession collapsed. She wiped the tears from her face brusquely, wishing that her husband had not borne witness to this unseemly display, but his demeanor softened at once, and he dried her tears with a far gentler touch than she had used. She buried herself into the haven of his arms as he stroked her flaxen hair, speaking calming words to her in their Elvish tongue. When she had sufficiently collected herself, Elrond reopened their conversation.

"There are few who could have stood unshaken having been submitted to the tortures of the orcs, they who have honed their wicked craft with a view to inflict the utmost pain and torment. It is no failing of yours that their poison spread too deeply for even my arts to touch, and it is no reflection of the love you reserve for your family that you could not return to happier days when all was done. It must never be said that my lady tendered her resignation the day that she left the eastern continent; rather, she did what self-preservation demanded and looked to the day when those she loved would follow in her footsteps. You could not have known then that Arwen's destiny would lie elsewhere, but that has only proven your strength all over again – as though any more proofs were needed. For you well know that strength reveals itself in more ways than one; it appears in many guises and takes on myriad definitions. There is no fixed standard by which strength may be defined, but if there were, then you surely would be the example against which all other strengths would be measured, for who could be stronger than a mother who has commended her child to the keeping of a fate whose outcome she may not control and a life in which she may not intervene?"

"I know of one," she said, taking Elrond by the hands, drawing deeply from the fount of wisdom hidden behind his eyes as though it were well-water. Projected across his lenses, she saw the last embers of the sputtering fire give off their waning glow, but knew intuitively that a brighter light would yet replace the one that was now extinguishing.

"What strength I have, you have given me. _You_ are my strength, Cel-nîn," he professed. She closed her eyes as grateful tears spilled down her cheeks in transparent runnels. She laid the side of her face against Elrond's chest as they drew in for another embrace, standing in the darkened room like celestial bodies adding their intrinsic brightness to a night of black. Cradled in his arms, she felt an indescribable cooling as of a fever in remission, a merciful crystallisation of unspilt tears, a binding of wounds that she could not have tended on her own. He was her partner in time, the one whose arm she would lean upon as they took to the never-ending road of life, an extension of herself who fleshed out all her lacks and complemented all of her virtues, and she knew she had chosen wisely the day that she took him to wed.

Elrond kissed the crown of Celebrían's head, and when she raised her eyes again it seemed that the room has discernibly lightened. Was it only the newfound buoyancy of her heart which had produced the effect? Was it the unshuttering of a window in her soul that accounted for this banishment of darkness? Or had they stood there in one another's arms until the rising of the dawn, heedless of the minutes or the hours that had ticked soundlessly by?

"_Perhaps all of them_", she thought as the Sun reared its fiery head away in the East.

The couple separated at last, her golden head rising from his sable one, and Celebrían spoke.

"When shall you depart for the harbour at Tol Eressëa to welcome these unheralded newcomers?" she asked, pacing toward the high window and crossing her arms lightly across her chest. The city of Tirion greeted her eye, its white towers flushed pink with the incipient Sun.

"These next three days when the moon is new; that is when I shall set sail with Mithrandir," Elrond answered, moving in beside her and directing his eyes on the same vista that had captured her eye. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her give a single nod as her lash-wings closed so low that they brushed against the soft rise of her cheek.

"That is well," she said finally. "It will be better to know sooner than late."

"You are certain that you will not come?" he asked.

"I am certain," she said.

"Then I shall speak no more of it," Elrond answered, moving as if to go.

"Is it true that the _periannath_ will be accompanying you to the harbour?" she asked suddenly, stopping Elrond in his tracks.

"It appears that Gandalf supposed them to be up to the journey, provided that they be of willing mind. Doubtless he has some design of his own that he chooses to keep to himself, as is his wont."

"But you have guessed at his meaning, have you not?" Celebrían countered.

"His mind is not so subtle that I may not read it if I wish," Elrond said with a shadow of a smile.

"You have certainly been in his counsel long enough to know his mind better than most," she said. "Well, you must give Frodo and Sam my warmest regards when you meet them. I shall be sorry to have missed the opportunity to speak with them."

"I am sure that they will be sorry as well. But perhaps it is for the best; for it occurs to me that it will be trying enough for Samwise to find his tongue in the presence of your mother – imagine his discomfiture if the two of you were both present," he said with a lighthearted smirk. Celebrían graced him with a humouring smile, then looked down at her hands, her expression changing to one of growing seriousness.

"You know who you will find when the ship has come in," she said. It was not a question.

"Certain of them, yes," he said hesitatingly. "The name of one in particular has spread fast across the island, as you know. But their total number remains unknown to me."

"But your heart, what does _it_ tell you?" Celebrían enquired, looking keenly into his eyes. He sighed, a sound that gave voice to a litany of tribulations whose roots went deeper even than those of the trees of Fangorn Forest.

"It tells me that whatever the end result, I shall find the endurance to bear it with you at my side. I shall suffer the consequences with the same courage that you have lent me."

"That is perhaps the fairest and most nobly-spoken evasion that I have ever heard from your lips," she responded, her lips curling into a slow smile.

"And yet, I will abstain from making any predictions, for my heart yearns for the same thing that yours does, but I am afraid it can be a terribly impartial instrument. I would not deign to raise your spirits with groundless hopes and imprecise forecasts."

"I know it," she said softly. The Sun had now filled every corner of the room, no longer the weak ruddiness of dawn in its nascency, but the brilliant white of a morning come fully to fruition. There was an entire day stretching ahead of her and all that that entailed: the little domestic chores, the ingrained routines, the breaking of bread and the singing of songs, all the outwardly perfunctory tasks that are so often taken for granted but now meant more to her than she could say. They were not important merely for the sake of distraction, though they did serve that function, but they were also vital to her survival. How perilous it would be to find oneself entrapped in a moment, static, inert, shackled by self-fashioned restraints for fear of moving forward. The small demands of the day nudged her forward when she might have preferred to stand still, and so she was being prompted forward now. But before she took her first of many successive steps, she had for her husband one last request before their discussion was shelved and reassigned to the treasury of yesterday.

"Elrond, if you should find that Elladan and Elrohir are come, send them all my love and ask that they fly hither with all haste."

"Of course," Elrond assented.

"And please," she appended before he went on his way and left her to her own devices, "do not be long."

**Elvish translations: **

El-nîn – "my El," a term of endearment for Elrond

híril nîn – my lady

Cel-nîn – a term of endearment for Celebrían

periannath - Elvish word for 'hobbits'

*Credit goes to oocities dot org/waseom_peredhel/translations dot html for the first three translations.

**Author's Notes:** The white jewel mentioned in the opening lines of this chapter is referred to in "The Return of the King" (the chapter entitled _Many Partings_). It was given to Frodo by Arwen and was meant to provide aid when "the memory of the fear and the darkness" troubled him. Frodo giving Celebrían the gem was my invention, as detailed in "Into the Arms of Forever." It also bears mentioning for those that do not know that Celebrían's mother is Galadriel, since Elrond briefly comments on her accompanying him to Tol Eressëa.

I am hoping that my next update will come more quickly than the last, but unfortunately I can't make any promises since I'm still experiencing some, shall we say, technical difficulties...ugh. I can, however, promise that Frodo and Sam will be back in full swing for the next chapter. Thanks for indulging me with this little interlude - I hope that any readers who might have been waiting for an update are not disappointed.


	7. The Start of a Journey

**Chapter 7: The Start of a Journey**

The night of the new moon chased the night of the fireflies swifter than an eagle on the wing, or so it seemed to Frodo as he watched the vaulted skies, the scudding clouds, the shrinking moon through eyes made pellucid with his waiting. During that short interval, Frodo and Sam exchanged few words between them, for why let the tongue wag indiscriminately when a shared look of understood camaraderie would do them just as well? Perhaps the two had reached a point where all that needed saying had already been said, perhaps language with all of its limitations was an impediment rather than a facilitator in certain times, perhaps they sensed a change in the air that rendered them silent with a kind of reverent piety, that a day of reckoning was on the verge of arriving that would soon alter the very fabric of their lives. Whatever the reason, they were quite content to simply enjoy one another's company without recourse to idle words. The unwritten message encrypted in a smile, the comprehension conveyed in a knowing glance, the awing gravity of a silence broken only by the stirring of a zephyr or the chirruping of a feathered traveller, these things were enough for the both of them.

Sam felt an uncanny sensation of disembodiment in those days, almost as though he were hovering outside of himself and so allowing his unbound soul to scale the highest heights at will. Something inside of him was striving, striving, ever-striving to attain some resplendent pinnacle that he had only glimpsed in golden dreams through a scrim of clouds from far away. It was stronger than any tidal pull, more compelling than natural instinct, a rallying call that trumpeted out from an incalculable distance and that his ear was specially synchronised with. He felt more spirit than flesh when that rebellowing note would echo its dulcet after-wash in his mind, felt almost that he could leap out of his skin if only to rise up and meet it. Frodo would mark the change now and again, the way Sam would disappear from behind his eyes, their light curtain-dimmed and haze-wreathed, but he would not broach the subject when he came to again. Neither did Sam speak of it.

At last, the night that they had awaited came after a day of sweet sun showers. The two hobbits were reposing in the sitting-room at what would have been moonrise, Frodo in an overstuffed armchair and Sam on the settee before the hearth. Sparing a glance outside, Frodo thought how incomplete the sky appeared without that soft lunar light, and it seemed as though the moon had been a gemstone prised from its bezel, leaving the task of saving the night from utter darkness to the diamond-chips of the stars.

"Well, Sam," said Frodo, breaking one of their periods of extended quietude, "it seems that our wait will soon be at an end."

"How's that, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked hazily, resurfacing from whatever mere of thought he had been submerged in and drifting back to the present.

"I say that the night we have been watching for is here, and we shall discover just what Gandalf means by having us tag along with him to Avallónë. Are you eager to be off in the morning?"

"I s'pose I am at that," Sam answered slowly.

"Only 'suppose?' I must admit, that does not sound quite as convincing as I might have expected from you," Frodo remarked.

"Oh, I'm keen enough, I reckon," Sam self-corrected. "As a matter of fact, I've barely had a thought for aught else ever since our crossing paths with Sir Calaeron. And I daresay that the trip'll be smooth-going enough, though it's been some time since I've left home without coming back to my own bed at night."

"Ah, is that what has given you pause?" Frodo asked.

"Well, no, not exactly, although I'd be lyin' if I said the thought hadn't struck me afore tonight," Sam responded with sheepish candour. "But it's something more'n that, something else that's not so easy to put into words. The way I see it, Gandalf's always got his reasons for puttin' himself forward, whether he'll come out and say it outright or no, and I figure that there's something up ahead that he means for us to see. In a way, I feel like our going off is somethin' like fate, and I don't want to put if off no longer than I have to. Whatever it is that Gandalf means for us to find, I'll be relieved to meet it because I feel I _must_; but on the other hand, I guess you could say I'm a bit anxious about the finding out. But maybe I'm not explaining it proper."

"I think I follow you, Sam, though I hope your anxiety will prove unnecessary. I have every conviction that our old friend has something spectacular waiting for us at journey's end."

"I hope you're right, Mr. Frodo. Still, I can't shake off the feeling that there's something ahead bigger than either of us could know. I don't know why I feel that way exactly. I just do," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Then it is a good job that we will have one another to face it," Frodo said encouragingly, reaching a hand out to his friend.

"Truly said, Mr. Frodo. I can't ask for better than that," said Sam, taking the extended hand and holding onto it for as long as the firelight lasted and the final cinders had fallen into the grate below. With the fire doused and the onset of night's cooling descending upon them, the hobbits went down for an early bed in preparation for the long day ahead.

XXXXX

"Sam?"

Frodo's voice seemed to come from someplace too deep for any plumb line to measure, a hidden grotto far beneath the surface of the Sea perhaps, or a subterranean recess beneath the feet of a mountain. But in the same room at his bedside? Impossible.

"Sam?"

Nearer now, but still far, much too far to be real.

"Come on, Sam, up you get!"

His eyes snapped open.

"Goodness me, Sam, I was beginning to wonder if I had cause for worry. It is not often that I am the first to rise, and even less often that you do not jump to attention when you are called upon. I would not have been so insistent, but Gandalf is waiting in the sitting-room and I daren't test his patience for too long."

"Mercy!" Sam moaned, hauling himself up and struggling to his feet drunkenly in his abashment.

"Steady on, lad! You will end up flat on your face rushing wildly about like that. All in your own time, Sam, I am sure Gandalf is not so eager to be off that he would risk you breaking your neck."

"Mercy!" Sam reiterated. "Just think of it – me keeping old Gandalf waiting on account of hopin' to catch a few more winks. Oh, I could-a sworn it was still the dead of night when I thought I heard you calling and I was just caught up in the middle of a dream. He's not terribly cross with me, is he?"

"I suspect he will chasten you most thoroughly when you present yourself, but no, I do not think he is really cross. I am sure he well understands that even waking can seem a chore for fossils such as we, though that will not stop him teasing you with his usual dry wit." Frodo replied

"Well, I'd best get myself decent first and foremost. I don't suppose we're to have enough time for a proper breakfast," he muttered disconsolately.

"Nonsense! It is especially vital that that we keep up our strength today if we're to trek across the length of this country and I shall personally put my foot down if Gandalf says otherwise, wizard or no wizard," Frodo declaimed, puffing his chest out resolutely.

"Well, sir, you're a braver hobbit than I am, that's all I'll say on the matter," Sam laughed, shuffling toward his wardrobe.

"A hungrier, perhaps. But a braver? No, I think not."

XXXXX

Forthwith, Frodo went out to Gandalf with a perceptibly reticent Sam in tow. The wizard sat magisterially in the same armchair Frodo had occupied the night before, the sunlight pooling in his robes of white, his face a mask of stern inscrutability. If the hobbits had ever failed to remember his high standing as a Maia, they had no illusions about it now as they entered the front room and came before him. Aged yet ageless, grave yet spirited, proud but kindly, his puissance, his grace, and his eminence were revealed all at once as the sunrise spilled through the open window and transfigured him into an emissary of the divinest order. So still was he, so regal in his comport, that one might have mistaken him for one of the Valar, mightiest of all beings that yet dwell in Arda. Then, the image seemed to recede, and he became the Gandalf that Frodo and Sam knew well from the Shire days, the Gandalf that would thrill hobbit-children with his sparklers and squibs, the Gandalf that turned up on doorsteps at unawares and always had a pinch of pipe-weed on his person, the Gandalf who saw the unmined possibility in all people, great and small – to wit, they saw a friend and an ally rather than a remote deity.

Catching sight of the hobbits, Gandalf drew his brow together as though he were prepared to deliver a very lengthy lecture to a pair of incorrigible delinquents, but Frodo fancied that he spotted a twinkle dance behind his eye that gave his true feelings away. Sam, however, was not quite as observant and fairly held his breath in anticipation of a verbal lashing.

"Well, I see that you have decided us worthy of your presence, Master Samwise. How very good of you to join us at last! I hope that I am not putting you out any in coming, but if I am not mistaken, I believe my arrival was to be expected, unless Calaeron has very much failed in his duty."

"N-no, Gandalf sir! That is, it warn't no fault of Calaeron's nor anyone else but my own self… well, and perhaps that spot of chamomile tea I took at bed-time didn't help matters none either; it does rightly have a way of laying me out flat, but that don't excuse me I know and…"

But Sam faltered as the booming sound of Gandalf's laugh filled the hall and precluded any need for further explanation or apology.

"See there, Sam, I told you that you mustn't take Gandalf's chaffing seriously. He only means to discompose you for the sport of it," Frodo said.

"Have a care, Frodo," Gandalf cut in, becoming stern-faced once again. "For I must above all things insist upon being taken seriously."

"Oh, very well, only do not harass Sam too much. He is a good deal more punctual than his conduct this morning might suggest. And besides, the poor fellow nearly leapt out of his skin for shame when I was obliged to wake him."

"Oh yes, I am sure Samwise is the very model of punctuality when he can be bothered. But never mind," he said, smoothing his speech at seeing Sam's dejection. "I am glad to see you up and well, Sam. I do not think that we shall be much delayed if we leave at once."

"I was meaning to have a word with you about that," Frodo began.

"Were you indeed?" Gandalf expostulated, his voice rising with affected vexation.

"I was, and I am. Surely you cannot expect it of us to rush out of the door without so much as a morsel for the road ahead. We are not as hardy as we once were, you'll find, and we will be needing plenty of fuel if we are to keep the fire going all day."

"So! All my carefully laid plans sacrificed on the altar of a hobbit's bottomless hunger! I might have guessed it – indeed, I _have_ guessed it, for he would be a very poor guide who did not attend to the needs of his flock."

"Begging your pardon, Gandalf, but I don't hold with all this talk of flocks, like me and Mr. Frodo were a couple of lost sheep that needed herding," Sam put in, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I see that our long friendship has accomplished one thing; it has made you much freer with your tongue, Mr. Gardner! However, I spoke nothing of sheep – that is only your own unflattering slant on what was meant as a harmless statement – though I daresay you would have been lost a hundred times over in past days if you had not had some guidance, some 'shepherd,' to set you on your way. But now that I have touched your pride so sorely, I suppose you will hardly deign to take food from he who has given you offence, though it comes from the dining halls of the Lady Celebrían and was brought to you at her express wish."

"Hold on, that's another matter!" Sam blurted. "Breakfast sent straight from the Elven halls: well why didn't you say so in the first place? If that's your way of asking pardon, then I'd say we're squared; let bygones be bygones, that's my motto!"

"It was _you_ who asked my pardon, if you remember, and _not_ the other way round. For my part, I make no apology, for I cannot control how you choose to misinterpret my words. If you wish to take it as a peace offering, then that is your own affair."

"I will take it whatever way I can get it," Frodo intruded impatiently. "So please, do not let's debate the matter any longer."

"Now at last, someone is beginning to talk sense!" Gandalf cried. "This way, my good hobbits: to the carriage!"

And so the hobbits girded themselves for their voyage and followed the wizard through the front door, but Sam did not exit without a plaintive backward glance at the table that they would not be dining at and the rooms they would not inhabit for time unspecified and undetermined.

"_I wonder if I'll return the same hobbit I am now by the time we get back_," Sam thought, and paused at that.

"Come Sam, don't dawdle!" Gandalf called, bringing Sam back to his senses. "It is no good having you slow us down before you have even crossed the threshold. If the promise of breakfast does not put a spring in your step, I am afraid nothing will!"

Nerving himself, Sam set his feet moving again and closed the door behind him. There, at the end of the front path, was a small, uncovered horse-drawn carriage, and standing proudly apart from them was Shadowfax who would suffer no equipage. There was nary a cloud in all the wild blue that spanned above their heads, and the morning light was now grown almost to its full. The air was peppered with sounds of life hidden in the foliage and the undergrowth, and the lawns that unrolled before them were a ramble of uninterrupted tropical green.

Gandalf leant over into the carriage which was to be Frodo and Sam's conveyance and produced a wicker basket from therein, and he summoned the hobbits to him.

"This comes to you with the good wishes of Lady Celebrían and Lord Elrond, the latter of whom you can expect to meet on the road ahead," he said. "I suggest you start in at once before it grows cold."

"Surely you cannot mean it is still warm?" asked an incredulous Frodo. Indeed, he had not hoped for anything more than cold meats and cheeses, being cognizant of the considerable distance between Elrond and Celebrían's halls in Valinor and their own home on Tol Eressëa.

"That is certainly what I mean," said Gandalf matter-of-factly.

"My word, can it be that Shadowfax is now so swift that he may race over water as though it were solid land?" Frodo questioned aloud, half believing it might be true.

"No, I think not," Gandalf said. "But you need not look so surprised; I would have grown quite feeble in my abilities if I could not manage to deliver a hot meal to my charges. Fortunately, I did not need the aid of speed to carry out this particular errand."

"I think what he means to say is that there's some sort of magic what's kept it hot and fresh even after all the way that it's come, or else I'm out of my reckoning," Sam interpolated.

"I would like to think that I am in the habit of saying what I mean, even if my meaning is not immediately understood," said Gandalf, apparently unwilling to confirm or deny Sam's speculations. "But I am afraid that you shall have to eat on the road since we are already much delayed," he announced, fixing a pointed look in Sam's direction.

"Couldn't we maybe just step inside for a few moments, Gandalf, if we're quick about it?" Sam asked timorously, not much liking the idea of breakfasting on-the-go while being bumped and jostled nauseatingly about in a moving cart.

"And then I suppose that I shall be made to wait until you have thoroughly digested afterward, at which point it be time you sat down for second breakfast, and we shall not set foot out of the door again until midday! No, no, we cannot afford any more delays if we hope to catch up with Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel."

"Our company is growing by the second!" Frodo said, hoisting himself up into the carriage with a helping hand from Gandalf. "But of course this is very fine news. It has been a long while since I have seen the Lady of Lórien, and it is always a pleasure to make Elrond's acquaintance. Well, I am afraid that Gandalf is quite right, Sam: we cannot ask our friends to wait for us while we tarry home at table. I shall especially want to deliver my thanks to Elrond personally for his part in providing our victuals as soon as possible. Besides, I should think that it will be a pleasant change of pace for us to eat out-of-doors, don't you agree?"

"Out-of-doors maybe, but on the move with nothing between our feet and the ground but a set of wheels? That I'm not so sure of," he grumbled in an undertone.

"It seems that our Sam has become terribly domesticated in these last years!" Frodo laughed, helping Sam up on the seat beside him. "We shall have to cure you of that in a hurry or else you will be in for a very unpleasant time." He opened up the basket and reached in avidly as a potpourri of delicious aromas met his nose.

"Not with fare such as this, I won't," Sam responded, his eyes wide with delight.

"Praise the stars, Sam is contented at last!" said Gandalf. "Now then, it is high time we took to the road. Let's away!"

XXXXX

Frodo and Sam sat back sluggishly in their seats, well sated after making short work of a generous portion of their Elvish banquet – so much so, in fact, that Gandalf had had to remind them to save some of the viands for later.

"You should remember enough of Elvish provisions to know that they are more nourishing that what you are accustomed to – or have you forgotten your past experience with _lembas_?" the wizard had said.

"Speaking of which," Sam began, rummaging in the food basket, "do I spy the old waybread right underneath our noses?" Sure enough, when he withdrew his arm, he held in his hand the unmistakable leaf wrappings that had been a too-familiar sight on darker paths.

"Your eyes do not deceive you," Gandalf said. "But I should not touch them after all you have already devoured. As it is, it is a good thing that we are not travelling on foot or else I should have to roll you through the countryside myself."

Sam looked away, mildly affronted, but when he was certain Gandalf was not paying him any heed, he broke off a small piece of the bread and chewed on it quietly. He wanted to see if it tasted the way that he had remembered and decided that it was far better than he had recalled.

Now, the hobbits could barely speak for satiety, not to mention the heat of the Sun coming down on their heads and driving them further into the territory of unreclaimed sloth.

"I don't recall as any journey was quite so easy-going as this!" Sam finally said to Frodo.

"Nor do I!" Frodo smiled lazily. "It seems more a vacation than a proper adventure, doesn't it? Ah well, I suppose we have both of us grown a deal softer since the old days."

"I'm afraid there's nothing for it, Mr. Frodo. The long and short of it is we're not made for such things anymore."

"No, that we aren't. There is no going back, it seems."

"That's all right by me," Sam averred. "It's not all bad, getting old. 'Specially when we're treated to comforts such as this. In fact, it's far pleasanter than anything I'd ever hoped for."

Frodo sighed, as if in capitulation, and felt his eyelids begin to drop.

XXXXX

It began with a humming. Not the one-note humming of cogs and wheels and instruments of machinery, not a low insectile drone or the dramatic buildup of a violinist as he glides his bow liquidly across his strings, but a jolly male voice humming a jaunty tune set to a familiar verse, one that Frodo would have liked to join in on himself, only…only he could not recall the words to mind anymore.

"_But I _know_ this song_," he thought, nonplussed.

"Perhaps you lost it somewhere along the way," a recognisable voice in Frodo's head replied. Frodo made to crane his neck, but all was impenetrable darkness.

"_No, no, I couldn't have. It seems much too important to have been left behind_."

"Everything must be left behind sometime."

A pause.

"_Yes. Of course. But is there nothing that we can call our own?_"

"Certainly there is."

"_What?_"

"You know the answer to that."

"_I thought I did, but it seems now that all I thought I knew is no longer so certain_."

"Few things are certain in this world. But it will become plainer. You will see."

"_But I cannot even see _you."

"Then perhaps I am not really there."

Another pause.

"_Have I gone mad?_"

"I _have_ heard tell that the mind is often the last thing to go."

"_That is not very comforting_."

"I am only ruffling your feathers. There are many things which you have already lost, things that you have cast away; your mind, fortunately, does not number among them."

"_I'm beginning to have my doubts about that_."

"Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

"_Not to my knowledge_."

"Then, there you are."

"_You are a very strange fellow. And yet, I feel as though I have known you for a long time, perhaps all of my life_."

"You know me, Frodo. Only you are not thinking clearly at the moment."

"_But you are a friend, not a foe_?"

"I should certainly hope so."

"_Is there some way that you could prove it?_"

"What would you suggest?"

"_Would you mind humming that bit of verse again? It eases me somehow. It makes me feel as though I am somewhere safe and cosy, someplace where nothing evil may trespass_."

"Shall I sing it instead?"

"_Oh yes, please do. I felt as though the words were on the tip of my tongue when I heard you before, but I could not quite conjure them up, try as I might_."

"All right; once more for old time's sake then."

"_For old time's sake. Yes. Thank you_."

XXXXX

"Mr. Frodo?"

A faint vibration seemed to stir him, a musical rumbling like a sound wave that rippled out and through him in tiny concentric circles. The sound, strangely, seemed to be trapped in his own throat.

"Yes, I'm here, anything the matter?" Frodo answered, his eyes squinting into a light far brighter than he had anticipated.

"I hope not; you were making funny noises in your sleep and I weren't sure if you were fixing to fight back a bad dream or break out into song."

"Sleep? Was I sleeping then?"

"Aye, you dropped off right after breakfast, very quiet-like and all a-sudden. It's well after midday now y'see, and a fair few hours since last we set out. I'd-a thought you'd been up by now, but I hated to wake you before I had to."

"That was kind of you, Sam. But tell me, could you make out just what it was I was singing? I seem to remember something about it as I was dreaming, if dream it was."

"I couldn't swear to it, but I thought it was Mr. Bilbo's song – you know the one."

"Of course," Frodo reflected. "And what better way to begin a new journey," he added to himself in a low voice.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Frodo?"

"Nothing, it is not important. Well, now that I am awake I should be glad for some refreshment. I wonder, will Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel be joining us soon?"

"All in good time, Frodo," Gandalf responded, riding slightly ahead of them. "Elrond had special need of haste, and we will not likely meet him until we have reached Avallónë itself."

"I see. So he is expecting someone at the harbour then?" Frodo inquired.

"He hopes, but he does not expect," Gandalf said, slowing Shadowfax's gait to match the speed of the carriage. "But he shall certainly have news, one way or the other, and he will want to receive it as soon as he may. However, that is his own business; _my_ business for now is to see that you are brought into the city healthy and whole. You will find the refreshment that you desire in what I have packed – I was certain I brought enough to last us both ways, though it seems I have underestimated the extent of your appetite! But you need not deny yourself, there will be plenty to be had when we reach the city."

"Thank you, but it was only water that I desired and _not_ a second course," Frodo replied curtly. "These Elvish provisions are wonderful, but frightfully dense – and so I feel I must inform you that I am not the glutton that you take me for."

"That is a relief! In that case, you will find flagons stowed in your cart filled with spring water from Valinor. That will more than quench your thirst, you will find, and should keep you up and alert for many hours besides."

Needing no further invitation, Frodo fished out the water bottles, handing one off to Sam and taking a pull from his own with zeal. He felt a change within him at once as the draught went coursing through him, a kind of sensory acuity and a mental lucidity that he had not felt since he last sojourned in Valinor under Elrond's roof. With his finely-sharpened eyes, he saw the Tower of Avallónë marching ever nearer, welcoming distant mariners to the sanctified land on which it had been built, though he would not have needed the assistance of magnified sight to espy it. Indeed, one could descry the Tower from all points on the island – Frodo himself had seen it many a night from his window when his eyes were drawn eastward – but it was almost as if he was viewing it for the first time now that every detail of its masonry was brought into focus. Frodo thought of the quays that lay beyond where he had once trod and how the guiding lamps would be lighted come sundown.

_Where many paths and errands meet_, he said to himself.

_And whither then? I cannot say_.

XXXXX

**Author's Notes:** The last two italicized lines are, of course, the final lines to Bilbo's walking song and belong solely to Professor Tolkien. For anyone who might still wish to know, I will probably not be speeding up the rate at which I've been updating since I only seem to be able to work at a snail's pace these days, and because I am allocating time to writing some original non-fanfiction work.


	8. To the Harbour of Avallónë

**Chapter 8: To the Harbour of Avallónë**

Eventide tumbled as soft as a whisper from a mother's lips as the three travellers forged ahead, their shadowed outlines backlit by a purpled sky. The leaves of the trees were the colour of mulled wine underneath the slumbering Sun, and the Sea was an outlying lullaby that might have only been the cadenced enchantment of a long-accustomed sound rooted somewhere deeper than the subconscious. Gandalf rode astride Shadowfax with a perfectly upright posture, showing no signs whatever of travel fatigue, while Frodo and Sam nodded in their carriage, hardly able to support their heavy heads. Through the slits of his half-opened eyes, Sam peered lackadaisically at the wizard and for a moment saw him again as Gandalf the Grey, the errant wanderer rambling and shambling along the byways of Hobbiton; indeed, it was as if the image of his travel-stained cloak, his tall, weatherworn cap, and the eyebrows that bristled from underneath its brim were splayed across the lenses of Sam's eyes and were being superimposed upon the wizard's high figure. He exhaled softly through his nose as the memory of the path that led to the green door of Bag End whisked fleetingly through his mind and was asleep before his chin had even dropped to his chest.

XXXXX

When Sam awoke, it was to the sound of a silver-tongued language that he knew only a little but was widely spoken throughout all the regions of the Western lands. The sky was quite dark, but a small fire had been kindled for him to see by, and it appeared to him as a golden halo gently driving back the dimness of night. He lifted his head which had been pillowed underneath with a rolled-up cloak and saw Gandalf seated before the blaze with his back to him, and Frodo beside him swaddled up in a blanket. Sitting across from them with their faces toward Sam was Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel.

"Our weary traveller wakes," Elrond saluted, perceiving Sam's eyes on his. He and Galadriel rose to their feet as one and inclined their heads to him with lowered eyes. Sam had a strong suspicion that he was goggling ludicrously at their honourable welcome but he was quite powerless to help it. Elrond came to him and helped him down from the carriage where he had been left to drowse.

"Thank you kindly, Master Elrond," Sam said humbly as he put his hand in the Elf-lord's. He joined Frodo's side at the campfire, but not before bowing low before the Golden Lady, unable to make any other suitable greeting.

"There you are, Sam, I was beginning to miss your company," Frodo said, sharing his blanket with him as he hunkered down beside him. "I hope you are not too stiff from sleeping in that carriage, but there was no prevailing on you to wake, you see. You can be a rather stubborn hobbit when it comes to napping, I have found."

"Aye, and more so the further I get on in years, it seems," Sam said. "And here I feared I weren't going to sleep a wink if I wasn't home in my own bed! Shows how much I know, though it doesn't stack up too well against a cushy mattress and a stack of feather pillows. Not that I'm finding fault, mind – I'm no worse the wear for it, luckily. But thank'ee for helping to make me a mite more comfortable, though you needn't have given up your cloak for a pillow to prop my head up."

"Don't be silly, it was nothing at all. Besides, what do I need with my cloak when our friends have got this lovely little fire going and these nice thick blankets to keep out the cold? We were just about to exchange news over a little supper, if you'd like it."

"You know me, sir, I'll not say no to a few mouthfuls!"

"I hoped that that would be your answer," Elrond smoothly entered in, passing a more-than-modestly-piled plate over to him. "For I should very much like to know how you are getting on since last we met."

"And so should I," Galadriel spoke in her rich, resonant tones. She smiled demurely as Sam struggled to find his tongue and was forced to settle for a hastily uttered: "Quite well, thank you." He felt acutely the gaze of Galadriel as she held his eyes and searched within their depths, for under her stare it felt as if all of his outer layers were being peeled back in order to discover the pith of his selfhood, that brightly shining spark that burned more brilliantly than the Arkenstone beneath his breast. He could not help but be reminded of their very first meeting in Lothlórien when she had subjected all of the Fellowship to a similar test, save that on this occasion the act felt much less intrusive, less demanding. It was more like the examination of a healer trying to make a diagnosis, or nearer yet, the action of a concerned friend looking for answers when admissions were not readily given.

"We are glad to know it," said Elrond at last, the connexion between Sam and Galadriel having been broken. "I will repeat to you what I have already told Frodo: that Celebrían sends her sincerest blessings and is very sorry that she could not be here to deliver them in person. But her thoughts are often with you, and your company has been very much missed as of late. Regrettably, this was a journey that her ladyship was not equal to, and she waits in Valinor for the time of my return."

"She's not…unwell, I hope?" Sam asked.

"Not unwell," Elrond echoed, "but there is a point when even the mightiest among us can be bowed when the load is heavy enough. Celebrían knows that limit, and she would not test the threshold of her strength, nor would I counsel her to."

"Then the purpose of this journey is a grave one?" asked Frodo.

"It is not," Gandalf interceded. "But it may well have ramifications for all of us, and not least of us the Lady Celebrían."

"But let us not dwell on the heaviness that might be but look ahead with eager eyes to the gladness that is certain," Elrond said, mitigating the ominous character of Gandalf's ambiguous words.

"And what gladness might that be?" Frodo probed, having heard enough of riddles for one night.

"Why, the coming of our new arrivals, of course. The effects of your age cannot have dulled your mind so much that you had not figured that out for yourself, surely," Gandalf retorted with a curl of his lip. Ignoring the wizard's slight, Sam became suddenly animated with the information he had learned.

"Another ship coming in from Middle-earth?" he burst out. "Well, I'd've never thought I'd live to see the day! Well, it'll certainly be nice to have a few new faces round these parts, sure enough. Though I can't see as any Elves would be expecting a couple of old hobbits like us for a welcoming committee. Let's hope that the looks of us don't scare 'em off back the way they came!"

"Far from it, Samwise," Galadriel said, smiling serenely. "They shall be very glad to be received by you, and it will please you to meet them greatly I am sure."

"I don't know why they should be glad to see us, but I'll certainly be glad to see them, whoever they might be." Sam said half to himself.

"I think I can guess who they might be," Frodo said. "But I will keep my guesses to myself and see if they are not confirmed when we arrive."

"Well, if you'd prefer that we continued to keep a secret of it," Gandalf clucked. "But I would wager my beard that there is one who even you, Frodo, could not anticipate meeting again. I think it is fair to say that you may expect the unexpected when we have reached the harbour – and if at that time you say that you guessed rightly I shall declare that you are possessed of a foresight equal to that of Lord Elrond himself!"

XXXXX

It was decided for the hobbits' sakes that the group would travel no further that night. A small but comfortable tent had been pitched for the two which would provide them with protection from the elements, and a profuse supply of blankets, bed-sheets, and pillows had been packed to buffer them against the little discomforts of sleeping outdoors. Indeed, when Frodo and Sam laid their heads to rest, they felt that they could hardly have been more comfortable in their own bed back at home, and they said as much as they talked in those somnolent whispers that bedmates often use just before sleep alights.

"Well, Mr. Frodo, I feel like I've slept away the better part of the day already, and yet all I really feel like doing is going right back to sleep all over again."

"I'm sure there's nothing in that, Sam. It is only to be expected, after all. Take your sleep whenever you wish it, for as long as you wish it."

"Heaven knows I've done a fair piece of that already," he said. "But I can't help but wonder who it is we'll meet when that ship comes in. Why, I've had all sorts of ideas about it after what Gandalf said and all, though I don't suppose any of 'em are too likely. Then again, 'expect the unexpected,' that's what he said, and that's put any number of notions in my head, for better or worse."

"What sort of notions?"

"Oh, I don't like to say; they're too foolish to speak aloud, most of 'em. But it's kind of nice to let your imagination run free, even if what you imagine in your head is too good to ever come true. There's plenty of folk I wouldn't expect to see turning up here and a few I might dance for joy to be together with again. But I don't suppose there'll be any more hobbits followin' in our footsteps now or later," said Sam, a trace of sadness in his voice.

"We can never be certain about what the future holds, Sam. I shouldn't like to make any predictions as far-reaching as that. But as for now, I think you are right. Only, be wary of such fantasies, no matter how harmless they may seem, for idle daydreams may turn into real hopes, and I would hate to see you holding on to a false hope only to be disappointed. Our minds can trick us into believing a great many things that are improbable and some things that are utterly impossible, even against the warnings of our better judgment. I know I must sound like a dreadful stick-in-the-mud speaking this way, but I would not have you fall victim to _that_ trap, my dear Sam."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Frodo, really I do. But don't you worry about me, I haven't got no illusions – I've been around long enough to know what's what, I'll wager. When I'm to meet my nearest and dearest again, it shan't be on yonder dock, that much is certain. Ah, but it does make me think of something my Ellie said to me when I told her of this place and how I might come to be here someday. She was dead set on coming with me then, though a-course she was too young to know what she wanted yet. But when she first learned of my plans, she said that she wouldn't be parted from me like… like Arwen was from Lord Elrond. She thought that she could come to be with her old Sam-dad when I got tired." His throat tightened suddenly into a knot as tears pricked at his eyes. The darkness concealed them, but Frodo sensed them just the same. "But she had a family of her own, and made a life for herself in the Shire, and got everything that I'd hoped for her. Things turned out the way they ought to have. The way things are is the way they're meant to be."

These last affirmations were spoken almost as a mantra to soothe the groundswell of emotion that his reminiscences had produced in him. He felt Frodo's hand land upon his on top of the coverlets as peace returned to him. He shuttered his eyes as two sorrowless tear trails leapt down his cheeks, and a calm as ancient as years overtook him, sending him floating down a slow-running river directing him toward the sanctuary of sleep. A last thought-bubble broke the surface of his receding awareness and he spoke from the in-between place where consciousness and unconsciousness blurred.

"You don't suppose that the lady in Calaeron's picture might be on that ship, do you?"

"I think it very unlikely, Sam. But one never knows." Frodo answered. They did not speak another word that night.

XXXXX

Gandalf awoke them early the following morning for their next ride, much to the immediate chagrin of the two sleepers, though they did their best to appear cheerful and at the ready when his summons came.

"Now comes the last haul," the wizard had said. "With any luck, we will have arrived at the port of Avallónë by midday – and that is precisely what we _must_ do if we hope to be on time for the docking of the ship. Let us not linger!"

The hobbits emerged from their tent stretching out their grudging muscles, then stopped in unison and stood abashed in their dishabille and their dishevelment, for they had forgotten that Elrond and Galadriel were waiting on them also.

"What a state we must look," Sam said under his breath while Frodo was still in earshot. "And here in front of such high folk and all. I could almost laugh if I wasn't burnin' for shame."

But the Elves quite decorously turned their faces so as not to add to their apparent self-consciousness and waited for them to conduct themselves without a word of reproach or a glance of appraisal. At length, the blankets were re-bundled, the tent stricken down, and the hobbits were carted and on the move again. They pecked at the Elvish store that remained in the basket that Gandalf had given them the day before, but the anticipation of the impending meeting had effectively ushered out any thoughts for heavy banqueting. Gandalf rode ahead of them on Shadowfax as before, and Elrond and Galadriel flanked him on either side on steeds of their own. The sound of the Sea was now much nearer, and Sam sat as though in a trance as he bit down reflectively on a wafer of the waybread.

"I see that you have not lost your taste for _lembas_," Elrond said, turning toward the hobbits' carriage upon hearing the sound. "I debated for some time with my wife whether it was seemly to include it amongst your provisions. I only hope that its associations are not altogether unpleasant."

"Indeed, no," spoke Frodo. "For if it had not been for the waybread, we should have never had the endurance to travel as far as…well, as far as we had to go. I do not know how we should have got on without it, though it's true, when all was said and done we did not crave the flavour overmuch! But I think more than enough time has passed between then and now that we may appreciate its virtues anew, and in better spirits."

"I am pleased to hear it," said Elrond. "As I am sure Celebrían will be."

"Yes, please do pass our compliments onto her, and all of your kitchen. You have been terribly generous in providing for us on this excursion," Frodo said.

"And that goes second for me too," Sam added. Elrond inclined his head and set his eyes back to the road ahead.

"Ah yes, this place grows more and more familiar to me as we go," Frodo said as the Tower of Avallónë soared high above their heads, so high it appeared to graze the underbelly of the clouds.

"I know what you mean," Sam agreed. "Why, it seems only yesterday when I first laid eyes on this great tower from way across the Sea. But then of course I was coming from the East and not the West like now. Seeing that light that shines there at the top when the stars come out and the Sun goes down to sleep, it made me feel calmer when I was on board the ship that brought me here. It reminded me a bit of your star-glass, as a matter of fact. It was like it was being held up for just my eyes to see, letting me know you were still there, safe and sound. A light to bring us together again, that's what I thought."

"And you were quite right," said Frodo. "For it led you through darkness and over the Sea and so brought you to be with me, and I count it more blessed than any other guiding star in the sky."

"So it is, Mr. Frodo" said Sam. "_I wonder who else it'll lead to us_," he said to himself as an afterthought.

XXXXX

It seemed only moments later when the harbour came into view and the Sea behind it, placid and expectant. The hobbits had not been this far east of Tol Eressëa since they had first set foot on the island, and though measureless leagues yet separated them from Middle-earth, they felt a nearness to their homeland that neither of them had felt for many a day. The idea passed transitorily through Sam's mind that Gandalf could fire a signal in the sky with his staff that might be seen by those on the Eastern continent, but he did not dare ask the wizard if such a thing was possible.

"Here at last," Sam said faintly.

"How odd it feels to have returned here," Frodo said in his transfixion. "Back at the doorstep again."

"It almost feels like The Shire's in shouting distance, doesn't it?" asked Sam.

"I feel almost as if I am looking through a window at my old life," said Frodo. "Like my eyes are fixed on all of my past and cannot be turned aside. I can see faces that have grown vague in my memory with new clarity, and the roads marked on the old maps – why I could draw them all up if only I had quill and parchment."

Gandalf edged in closer to the pair seeing well the state that they were in, and spoke with the intent to break the spell lest they fall too deeply into its siren song.

"The Sundering Seas: yes, that is their name, but there is no barrier so great that it can sunder us from memory. But it is right and necessary to keep a certain distance from memory, else the task of moving forward would be an impossible one. Do not forget also that although memories of those you hold dear remain intact and unchanged, they themselves have changed. This is especially true for you Frodo who have dwelt here many years, but for you also, Sam, who have spent years here longer than you would swear to. Things will not be the same as you remember them, and you must nerve yourself for whatever tidings you may hear when the ship is come."

"Your talk unsettles me, Gandalf, and I fear now that there is some secret purpose in your bringing us here," Frodo said with knitted brow.

"I had no ulterior motives, Frodo," said Gandalf sternly. "Nor would I lure you here with a willful deception. It is precisely because I do_ not_ want you to be deceived that I spoke the words which have had the unfortunate result of 'unsettling' you."

"Deceived? Deceived by who?"

"By yourself, of course! It is better to be prepared for all eventualities than to blind yourself with fond recollections of the way things once were."

"His words may sound harsh to your ears, but he speaks truly," Elrond said, coming quietly up behind them. "There is little that changes with the passing years here in these Western lands, but the same does not hold true for those who lie across the Sea. I too must steel myself for what tidings may reach my ears."

Elrond's words sunk like a stone to the pit of Sam's stomach. The combined effect of his and Gandalf's gentle but cautionary warnings had unnerved Sam even more than Frodo, though he abstained from speech.

"Of course," Frodo said sedately. "And I feel it incumbent upon me to apologise to you, Gandalf, for the way I reacted. I see now that you were only trying to do us a kindness. Well, I do hope that there will be _some_ cause for merriment once the ship has come."

"Certainly there shall," said Elrond. "For there are few things more glad than the meeting of old friends."

"Do you suppose that your sons will number among the crew?" Frodo asked.

Elrond sighed heavily.

"That is one of the principle reasons that I am here and Celebrían is not. But the nearer the vessel draws, the more I disbelieve that this is the day they have chosen to come to the West. It seems to me that their presence would have become known to me if they were somewhere within reach, but I have felt no sign of them."

Frodo looked down, searching his mind for some reply but finding none.

"Sam?" the voice of Galadriel broke in, startling Frodo from his state of inattention. "Are you feeling poorly?"

"I reckon I'm all right, Lady," Sam stoutly assured, but his colour was washed out and there was a tightness about his expression that bespoke distress.

"Sam, you look dreadful!" Frodo baldly declared. "For goodness' sake, why didn't you say anything if you were unwell?"

"Just a passing fit is all it was, Mr. Frodo, no worse than that," Sam answered diffidently. "But maybe I'd best get off-a my feet for a piece, if it's all the same."

"I think that you had better do that," Gandalf said, extending a hand and steering him back towards the carriage with Frodo trailing behind him. "There is no reason you ought to be a standing audience when there is no one yet to see."

Sam leaned back in his seat as Frodo hefted himself up beside him and breathed a trifle easier than he had before.

"That's better, thank you, Gandalf," he said.

"Good, then you must stay here and watch the ship approach more comfortably, I hope."

"That I will," Sam assented, "at least until the ship touches down anyway."

"Look, Sam!" Frodo said all at once, pointing a finger toward the intersecting blue of water and sky. "I think I can see it in the distance."

Had Frodo been equipped with the long-reaching sight of the Elves, he might have noticed it long before, but verily, the ship had materialised as a grey shadow within easy range of his vision, weakened over the years as it was, but still sharper than most could boast at his age.

"Not much longer now," said Gandalf. "Rest you easy until then. And take courage, Sam! You would not want the first thing our friends to see upon arriving is grim faces. Welcome them as they deserve to be welcomed, and fear not for the consequences before there is reason to."

He laid a hand warmly on Sam's shoulder and held it there for a moment before walking away, but even that brief contact brought a qualitative change in Sam's demeanor. The storm surge in his heart was becalmed, and yet he felt a strong impulse to weep cleansing tears into the wizard's robes, tears that would be ennobled and made pure when mingled with his Maia's vestments. But Gandalf had gone, and the ineffable desire had moved on with him.

"Gandalf is right, Sam," Frodo said. "This is a _happy_ occasion. He would not have brought us all this way if there wasn't someone of special significance to us aboard that ship."

"Aye," Sam said, flashing him a little smile and falling into a silence that, despite his best efforts, was laden with the raucous clamour of unanswered questions in voices that were subtle variations of his own. They overlapped and eddied, plummeting down upon his head like pellets of freezing rain, disturbing his calm and shaking his hard-bought composure. He shifted a bit in his seat and asked the one question that called out louder than any of the others.

"Mr. Frodo, just how long have we been here on these Elvish lands, d'you think?" he asked.

But Frodo could not answer. He had long since given up on keeping track of the years; now, he too found himself wishing that he had paid them greater mind.

"Never mind, Sam. We will find what we will find."

His hand sought out Sam's. Then they waited.

XXXXX

**Author's Note:** Sam's recollection of Elanor's wish to accompany him to the Undying Lands and not wanting to be parted from him "like Arwen was from Elrond" is paraphrased from a line in the second version of Tolkien's epilogue (see also: author's note in chapter 4).


	9. Arrivals From The East

**Chapter 9: Arrivals From The East**

It was a fair and favourable wind that gusted the ship nearer and nearer toward its final destination, although it came only by increments of inches by the estimation of the waiting hobbits. Though not typically prone to impatience, Sam could hardly keep his anxiety in check as these interminable minutes rolled by with all the rapidity of trickling molasses, compounding the unbearable suspense by the second.

"_I wonder if Mr. Frodo's got himself all in a flutter and a ferment too. All this waiting about's enough to drive anyone to the brink, I'd say_," he reflected to himself, mostly as a way of distracting himself from other thoughts that had lately occurred to him that were less pleasant.

From where they were seated in the carriage, Frodo and Sam could see the grey ship as it broke through the crystal barrier that divided the one world from the next and its swelling sail like a dove wing flying low in the sky. And there were Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf on the quay facing seaward, as lofty and as high a triumvirate as any could hope to be greeted by.

"The bearers of the three Elven rings of old," Frodo said, unaware that he had given his thought voice.

"Not a bad welcoming party for whoever it is that's making their way here," Sam said.

"No, not bad at all," Frodo smiled.

"If it were me, it'd have likely knocked the wind right out o' my lungs if I was to see the three of them all gathered together, waiting to help me off the ship."

"What _did_ you see, Sam, when your ship came in at last? I do not recall you ever telling of it," Frodo asked.

"It's hard getting a clear picture in my head now, I was so taken in with it all and feeling such an awful lot of feelings at the time," Sam answered slowly. "It sort of felt the way I imagine it would feel taking your very first breath, or what it must be for a child newly born to see the light for the first time. It was like the colourfullest rainbow that ever came in the sky after a summer rain, or the prettiest flower that ever popped its head up from the soil after a long cold spell. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, and I very well might've done for all I can remember. I felt as light as air, and just as free from care as I'd ever been all a-sudden. The tiredness seemed to melt away right off me, and all the sorrow that I'd brought was thrown off my shoulders as though it weren't no heavier than a walking jacket anymore.

"The next thing I can remember, I see Gandalf standing just where he's standing right now – that picture of him is one thing that's still clear in my head. Then of course there were Elves, and they're always a mighty sight to see, but I had other things in my mind and their faces weren't familiar to me, so I didn't mark 'em in partic'lar. There was someone else that I'd counted on seeing, as it were," he said.

"Sam, had I known you were coming–" Frodo started.

"Now, don't lay the blame on yourself," Sam quickly cut in. "Gandalf had his reasons for doing things the way he did and I don't fault him none. 'Course at the time I was so beside myself thinkin' that I'd kept you waiting too long and…well, that wasn't the case luckily. But the first thing I ask Gandalf when I steps off the boat is 'Where's Frodo?' which warn't exactly the most proper way of saying hullo to him after so many years gone by, I'll admit – and old Gandalf was pretty quick to remind me of that, you can bet. But I think he rather expected it and didn't seem to take it too personal, I hope, and he says to me, 'Frodo's _fine_, but in need of help.' 'Help?' I says. 'Is he in some kind of trouble?' And I wondered to myself what kind of trouble could show up in such a place. 'Of a kind,' Gandalf says to me, 'but nothing so serious that can't be fixed if we act quickly. I'm here to take you to him.' 'Well, then, lead the way!' I say, not wanting to waste another second if I could help it. Because when my Frodo's in trouble, there's no one more set on getting him out of it than his Sam. Gandalf knew that right enough.

"And then, Mr. Frodo – you'll never believe it – he sets me in front of him on _Shadowfax_ of all things and tells me to hold on tight, and before I can so much as bat an eye we're off at the most terrific pace I've ever ridden. You'd think I'd be scared out of my wits right about then, and in any other place it might've been so, but that weren't the way it was, if you can believe it. All I could think of was getting to you as fast as I might, no matter how, and if that meant riding on the fastest horse in all the world, well, that was all right by me. And while we were riding, Gandalf filled me in on all that happened with poor Mr. Bilbo and, well, you know the rest."

"My stars, Sam, why did you never tell me of any of this?" Frodo asked with eyes that were moistened with tear-dew.

"I guess I hadn't given it much thought once we two were together again, and happy in our lives. It was like a chapter in a story I'd nearly forgotten."

"Well, you've told me now, and that's the main thing," said Frodo, composing himself. "And I _do_ wish I could have spared you that fretful ride, even if you were too brave to mind it. Ah, but look, Sam! Your story has sped up the time extraordinarily, for here comes the ship at last! It is touching in even now; are you feeling well enough to go to it?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Mr. Frodo."

"Then come, let us go!"

XXXXX

The hobbits clambered down from the coach, helping one another get to their feet safely (for even such ordinary tasks as quitting a carriage could prove a rather delicate procedure in their present condition) and joined Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel on the quay. Silence encompassed all of the group as the ship neared the berth, coming at last to the denouement of its long, unerring course. What little breath that was drawn by those who watched and waited would not have stirred a feather.

The first thing that they saw was a tall figure limned by the conquering Sun as he stood bravely on the prow of the ship, and Frodo knew him to be an Elf without even having seen a single one of his features in focus. But the first words that he heard came from a rasping, grizzled voice, and one that was quite uncouth compared to the speech that he had grown accustomed to hearing.

"Bless my beard," is what it said.

Frodo exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Sam as their mouths turned upwards in simultaneous smiles that published their disbelief and their amazement for all and sundry to behold.

"Hail, Gimli son of Glóin," Gandalf cried in a seismic voice that rolled like thunder.

"Le suilon, Legolas; le nathlam hí!" Elrond addressed the standing figure who now sprang down nimbly from the ship's deck onto the pier. And so it was that Legolas stood before them bathed in the clear light of noontime, divested of the sun-shadow that enrobed him, unchanged in all ways save perhaps in his eyes which held new volumes of knowledge, new happinesses and new griefs that commingled in vast, unplumbed reservoirs.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas said with a deeply deferential bow. Elrond sought his eyes as he raised his head again, hoping to unlock what secrets they kept in their hidden stores, to find what answers he desired that he had not the heart to ask for aloud so soon.

"Not so fast, Master Elf," Gimli's voice chided from the boat before any more could be said. "You'd do well to remember that we are not all gifted with the agility of the Elves and cannot go leaping from place to place at will. Or have you forgotten that you have not traveled here alone?" The dwarf clomped heavily on the wooden planks below his feet, easing his way onto the gangplank with steps that broadcasted his indignation almost as effectively as his scolding tongue. Old as the mountains he looked, old beyond the count of years, but still hardy as the weathered rock that endures through blight and bluster and stands immovable amid storm and surge.

"How could I forget?" Legolas said, coming swiftly to his aid. "But knowing you as I do, friend Gimli, I was certain you would be too stubborn to accept my assistance."

The dwarf harrumphed conspicuously, but any other argument that might have sprung to his lips died away as he lifted his snowy head and gazed at long last upon the one who had captured his heart so long ago and whose memory had bewitched him even unto his latest years. All the fairness of Tol Eressëa shrank to the point of invisibility as he stood before the Golden Lady, and she came to him with graceful step, a smile on her face. Here was the one whose golden hair he had enshrined within the jeweled caverns of the mountains, the one whose beauty he would have prostrated himself for and sacrificed himself to, the temple at which he worshipped and the icon that he reverenced.

"My lady," he uttered through a throat clenched with inexpressible elation. He lowered himself unsteadily to one knee so that the tip of his beard touched nearly to the ground.

"I am very glad to see you again, Master Gimli," said Galadriel, descending to his level and drawing his gaze back to her eye. "I hope that yours was an easy passage and a fair journey."

"How shall I call it fair when before my very eyes I behold one whose beauty has no equal? All things that I once deemed fine and lovely have vanished from my mind, and I can give you no account of them any longer. That I should be here at all –"

"Is a thing unheard-of," Legolas supplied matter-of-factly.

"True enough," Gimli resumed. "And I can hardly begin to think how you managed it, my Lady. But I know very well that a dwarf in the Western country is bound to ruffle some feathers; well, you can tell the Elves not to trouble their heads over it, for my stay will not be a long one. Now that my last wish has been fulfilled, I can die in perfect content having seen the Lady of Lórien once again when I dared not hope to be graced by her beauty in this life or any other."

Galadriel straightened, giving Gimli her hand whereby he too could right himself and said:

"The years have not blunted the eloquence of your tongue, Master Gimli," said Galadriel. "Though humility induces me to say that you overvalue these virtues of mine that you praise so highly, and with such skill. But I fear you judge my kinsmen rather too harshly in imagining that there is some lingering enmity where none exists. You have come to be here at my express request, and any who would deny you that right shall be answerable to me. As long as you choose to stay here, you shall be begrudged nothing and live among us as an equal."

"You have my gratitude, my Lady," Gimli said, bowing his head. "And I hope I haven't given any offence; but as for the highness of my praise, I will not ask for any pardon, and would not temper my words but refine them if I could, if only to better do you justice."

"And if you are quite through with all of your 'praising' for the present, perhaps you will notice that there are others here who should like to be reacquainted with you," Gandalf interrupted, a faintly sardonic gleam in his eye.

"I was coming round to it," said Gimli grouchily, but smiling in spite of himself. "Gandalf, and Master Elrond, and what's this?" he said, throwing his glance toward Frodo and Sam.

"Now you are only feigning surprise," Legolas said. "For I spied the hobbits long before we reached the isle and informed you of their company myself."

"And I was not inclined to believe you, thinking it one of your foolish pranks. Well, I haven't your sight, but I am seeing them now for the first time for myself – and you'd do well to remember, Legolas, that we dwarves do not _feign_ anything, thank you very much. But, let it pass," he said, turning his attention back to the hobbits. "By Durin's beard, Frodo and Samwise, you are nearly as old as I am!"

"I can hardly believe it!" Frodo burst out, clapping his hand excitedly over Gimli's. "Of all the people that I thought to meet today, it never even crossed my mind to imagine that you might be one of them. Oh, but it is so _very_ good to see you again, and you, Legolas, though your appearance does not come as quite the same surprise."

"So you guessed it then?" Legolas asked, coming over to the hobbits.

"I felt quite sure of it," Frodo said as the Elf knelt down to embrace him. "But I was only half right, I'm afraid, and so I suppose Gandalf cannot concede that my foresight is on a level with Elrond, as he promised."

"I will not," Gandalf confirmed.

"Well, that is no slur against your character," Legolas replied. "And dear Samwise," he said, coming in for an embrace as Sam crimsoned to the temples.

"Now then, let me have a good look at the both of you," said Legolas.

"You sure you wouldn't rather fix on Lady Galadriel for a spell like Master Gimli?" Sam asked timidly. "She's a far prettier sight than the two of us. Why, if we hadn't been the only hobbits what lived on this island, I'd've thought you'd barely be able to recognise us at all – though a-course Mr. Frodo's always been a good bit easier on the eyes than I ever was."

"Nonsense, Sam, I would have known you from a hundred leagues away! And you are _both_ looking very well indeed; it seems that time has treated you far more kindly than our friend Gimli."

"The impertinence!" Gimli expostulated.

"Now there, Legolas, you really should not jest about such things, for it touches a sore point among us poor mortals you know. And anyway, I think Gimli is looking remarkably well for his age, though I will not ask him what his years are for decorum's sake. Well, not _only_ for decorum's sake…you see we are quite ignorant of calendar years and I am not sure I am ready to learn just how far into the future we have travelled."

"Yet, there is much that will have to be learned in due time," said Elrond. "But let us first retire someplace better suited for our needs where we may speak more comfortably."

"I would that there were nothing to report save happy things, but much has passed since you set sail, both bitter and sweet," said Gimli.

"Blame does not fall upon the messenger, nor anyone else, and you shall not be held in contempt for what report you bring," said Elrond.

"Perhaps not, but that shan't make the telling any easier," the dwarf replied.

"But come, let us not darken the mood when you have hardly even set your boots on the ground," interjected Gandalf. "Arrangements have already been made for luncheon here in Avallónë; I am sure that all of us could do with some refreshment."

"Shall I ever need refreshment again when the air I breathe is sweeter than honey from the comb? Can there ever be hunger for anything save for the continued sight of this marvelous country or a thirst for anything but to know its every region down to each singular blade of grass?" Legolas soliloquized, addressing the land with adoring eyes.

"Well _I_ for one shall certainly go on craving food and drink," said Gimli, shattering the spell in an instant. "Air and grass may suit Legolas's purposes, and he is welcome to it, but such stuff is no proper nourishment for a dwarf. As for me, I'll take roast pork and a good strong brew if I'm to be satisfied."

"Worry not, Gimli, for even Elves cannot forever be sated by sunshine and fresh air alone, though they provide nourishment of a kind. Fortunately my people have prepared something rather more substantial, and I am sure that you will find the provender very much to your liking." Elrond reassured.

"Then what are we doing dallying here?" said Gimli, at which Legolas bristled ever so slightly. "Let's be off!"

XXXXX

It was decided after a brief consultation that the group would go by foot, for Elrond promised that the distance was quite short and should not prove overly taxing for the hobbits and the dwarf. He made a special point to ask after Sam after his recent spell of weakness, but Sam dismissed his concerns breezily and declared himself completely recovered – and sorely in need of a bit of exercise at that.

As they passed through Avallónë, the city that had long ago been established by the Teleri and who kept it still, the Elves strewn about the streets greeted them variously, some with silently inclined heads, some bandying words of welcome in their native tongue, others raising an arm in friendly salutation. But common to all of them was an undisguisable astonishment in their faces at seeing Gimli tramp along as though there was nothing at all unusual in that, as if a dwarf in the land of the Valar was as commonplace a sight as a bird riding a breeze (which it certainly was not). Most were careful not to stare too conspicuously in the dwarf's direction, though some were less successful in their attempt to be discreet, and still others took no pains at all to hide their shock, though these last were comparatively few.

"Fear not, Gimli, it was much the same when I first arrived. They shall become accustomed to seeing you in no time at all I'm sure," said Frodo as he walked beside him.

"They needn't try, for I spoke truthfully when I said I should not remain here long," he answered calmly.

"Oh, I hope you have not settled on that already, for you have seen so little of the wonder of this land, and it would be a shame if you did not enjoy it at least for a little while."

"You're mistaken, for I have already been in the presence of the greatest wonder that this land has to offer and will find no further enjoyment in aught else under the Sun. And besides," he added in a mischievous undertone, "do you really think I've grown so soft at heart that I would choose to spend the remainder of my time in the company of all these _Elves_?"

He winked conspiratorially at Frodo and elaborated no further on the subject, choosing instead to ignore the looks of the passers-by with exaggerated indifference.

XXXXX

Elrond had not misled them when he said that the trip would be a short one, for not more than a quarter of an hour had expired when they saw the pavilion ranged against the skyline. Underneath the tented enclosure a long table was laid out for the small gathering of friends and several covered platters whose contents would remain a mystery until they reached the site.

"It's moments like these when I mourn for the legs I had when I was one hundred and thirty," Gimli confided to the hobbits. "I could cover the distance in half the time and have my meal twice as quick at my old speed."

"A hundred and thirty?" Sam repeated bemusedly. "Forgive me for making so bold, Master Gimli, but that don't seem like the prime of youth to me, though I s'pose a hundred and thirty would be some improvement even for us, though not by much, mayhap."

"That is because the span of a hobbit's life is far shorter than that of a dwarf's, generally speaking" he said. "When first we met, I was nearly one hundred and _forty_, though you may not have known it."

"Well, don't that beat all! I'd-a never have guessed it. Hearing you say that, you almost make me feel young again!"

"Do you, Sam?" Frodo put to him. "Because it has been quite the opposite for me. Seeing Gimli again has made me feel far, far older than ever before. Now, I am being forced to reconcile with just how much time truly has gone by."

"This talk does not flatter me much, no matter which way you lean, older or younger. In either case, it amounts to saying that I wear my years plainly and unbecomingly – you may just as well have called me dotard straight out and not mince matters with subtle insinuations!" Gimli huffed.

"Oh dear, I'm dreadfully sorry, Gimli," Frodo said. "It was not my intent to make insinuations of any sort – rather, I fear I may have spoken my mind a bit too bluntly, and therefore, with a regrettable lack of delicacy."

"Nay, you mustn't worry about such things as _delicacy_ with me, for I am no delicate thing, nor have I ever been. You'll have to do much better if you want to pierce through a skin as thick as mine! But you musn't mind me if I'm a bit testy; it is only because I am overtired and underfed and very keen to have at this luncheon that Elrond has promised. After I am fed and rested, I'll be just as meek and as gentle as a lamb."

Before they had reached the grounds, however, the group was waylaid by an assemblage of Elves crowded together in the road – Silvan Elves, judging from their appearance. Legolas paused mid-stride, then broke out into a tremendous smile and sprinted forward with a cry of elation. There was much exclaiming and enthusing in the Elvish language as Legolas embraced each of them one by one. They, in turn, hailed the returning prince of Eryn Lasgalen, formerly known as Mirkwood – that is, until the sickness had been purged from that scourged forest and its original name, Greenwood, was restored.

"Forgive me!" Legolas called out to his halted companions. "But these are kinsfolk of mine, as you have probably gathered, friends that I have not seen in many years."

"Apologies are not necessary, Legolas," said Galadriel. "None here would deprive you of the pleasure of being reunited with the people of your homeland." Gimli shifted slightly on his feet but held his tongue, though it was apparent from his posture that the unanticipated holdup was trying his patience.

"But we do not wish to delay you any longer," one of the Wood-elves spoke up, bending slightly at the waist then turning back to Legolas. "Only we heard rumours of your arrival and had to find out if the reports were true."

"They were no rumours, Thonor, and I am thrilled that you were here to stop me. Alas that I cannot stay here and speak with you at greater length at the present!"

"There will be time enough to speak when you are otherwise unoccupied. Tenna enta lúmë,namárië, Legolas."

"I shall look forward to it greatly," Legolas returned. "Namárië, mellyn-nin, tenna enta lye omenta!"

The Elves made to leave, but Thonor was brought to a standstill at seeing Gimli in the company, and travelling alongside such great personages besides.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Thonor said aloud. "Can it be that a dwarf has been permitted to sail the Straight Road and dwell here in the Valar's protected realm?"

"You are not deceived," Galadriel said. "For it is I who secured his place here in Valinor. I am certain there are none among you who would doubt the wisdom of the Valar whose will it was to grant Gimli son of Glóin passage into the West."

Gimli stood with his arms crossed proudly over his chest, his stout legs planted firmly on the ground and a look of challenge in his eyes as though he were fully ready to take on any who might be so bold as to voice their disapproval, or even so much as look at him sideways. He had been so prepared to spring up in his own defence that he was utterly blindsided when the Elf instead embraced him with brotherly affection.

"Your name is well-known to me, Gimli son of Glóin, and to all who made their home in the forest of Greenwood. The friendship that you have forged with Legolas has done more to strengthen the alliance between Elves and Dwarves than any other gesture of clemency or truce drawn up by the leaders of our peoples. Yours is an example we might all hope to follow, and we are honoured that you should come to dwell with us. Though we cannot all hope to be held as close in friendship with you as Legolas, I hope that you will look upon us with the same favour that you have shown to our good and noble prince. For myself, I should be very glad to call you my friend."

Legolas struggled to keep himself expressionless and composed when Thonor had finished speaking, but the look on Gimli's face made it nearly impossible to remain unmoved.

"Well…that's very decent of you," Gimli yielded up at last. "And I thank you for your kindly sentiments. I'll not soon forget them."

Thonor bestowed a last departing bow and the Elves moved on, leaving a trail of farewells in their wake.

"You see, Gimli?" said Frodo when Legolas's kinsmen were out of hearing. "I knew that the Elves would do their part to make you feel welcome. And how nicely worded were their compliments!"

"Yes, yes, very decent of them, I admit it. But there is one point on which we disagree."

"And what point might that be?" said Legolas indulgingly.

"Their 'good and noble prince?' 'Good,' I'll grant you, but 'noble?' That is a flagrant overstatement."

"Take care, Gimli, for if you make an enemy of me, you will be grievously outnumbered here in Elvenhome," Legolas cautioned.

"I think I'll take my chances," Gimli retorted.

"And _I_ think we have heard quite enough of your bickering for one day," Gandalf rebuked. "Come Legolas, Gimli, let's not waste another moment flinging idle abuses at one another, thank you – unless of course you have taken a fancy for stale bread and dry meats."

With Gandalf's warning ringing in their ears, not another word was swapped between the two of them until they arrived at the luncheon table.

XXXXX

**Elvish Translations:**

Le suilon, Legolas; le nathlam hí – Greetings, Legolas, we welcome you here

Tenna enta lúmë,namárië – Until that time, farewell

Namárië, mellyn-nin, tenna enta lye omenta – Farewell, friends, until next we meet

**Author's Notes:** Once again, thanks to elf dot namegeneratorfun dot com for providing me with the name Thonor for Legolas's estranged friend. It may also be worth noting that this is my first time writing as Legolas and Gimli, so please bear with me if I haven't quite pinned down their respective voices. I strive to stay true to canon, so I hope that they don't come off as being _too_ movie-verse. I will do my best to get the next chapter up as soon as I can for those who are still invested in the story!


	10. Fallen Stars On Eastern Shores

**Chapter 10: Fallen Stars on Eastern Shores**

The seven companions sat round the table, their plates cleaned, their cups drained, and the serving platters reduced to a state of near depletion thanks especially to the efforts of Gimli and the hobbits. The idle chatter that had prevailed as they broke their fast together had ebbed and gradually petered out as their thoughts inevitably turned to more serious matters. It was all very well swapping japes and anecdotes with one another, discussing the finer points of stonework and gardening (depending upon who the speaker was), and applauding the savours and the flavours of the food that they shared between them, but an ambient expectancy hung ponderously over them, and it would not be dispersed with a laugh and a tale.

And so it happened that all of the side conversations that had sprung up between them resolved into a natural but loaded silence as one and all responded to a cue that nobody had heard but everyone had felt. Presently, the plates were cleared away and a copper kettle was being passed around in observance of the hobbits' long-standing tradition of post-luncheon afternoon tea, an accommodation for which Sam was especially grateful.

"A cupp'a tea always had a way of calming down my nerves and settling me in, like," Sam said under his breath to Frodo as he passed the teapot over to him. "Here's hoping this'll be a brew strong enough to do the trick."

"I know just what you mean, Sam," said Frodo as he filled his cup. "And I suspect that today of all days, we will need all the calm that grace will permit us. But let us not be too much shaken, come what may. We must be strong and weather the news as best we can, and as bravely as we are able. Ah, but we had better stop whispering amongst ourselves; it looks as though Elrond is going to get things started."

"Let's just hope it don't end up going on as long as one of his councils of old," Sam remarked. Frodo chuckled in his throat and waited for Elrond to make his opening remarks.

"My dear friends," he began, "we have now broken bread together, emptied our glasses together, we have looked upon one another with joyous hearts and made such light and easy converse as is fitting for this, the hour of our reunion. Many have been the years that have separated us from one another, yet this day has proven that true friendship shall always triumph over the test of time and never founder. We were first brought together under great duress, in a time of extraordinary peril. Having survived that peril, we were brought closer together than words may suitably express, and we shall always be bound together no matter how great the distance between us.

"But now, that danger lies far behind us. Today, we meet each other under far happier circumstances. I do not but doubt that we might carry on much as we have in this last hour, rejoicing in each other's company until the skies grow dark. However, there are some matters of especial import which must become known before long and that cannot be forever stalled with feasting and merrymaking. It is a boon and a blessing that you, Legolas, and you, Gimli, have arrived here on this day, and we thank the Valar for granting you passage across the Sea to be joined with us at long last. It is often said of the Elves that time is of but small consequence, it being a resource that we never lack nor want for, but I think it safe to say that even we of immortal ilk feel time's passage as keenly as our mortal brothers when the years divide us from friends that we miss.

"But we are all of us aware that there is news from Middle-earth of no little moment that concerns all who are seated here to varying degree. I have hope that much of what you have to tell shall be tidings of good, of how the Hither Lands has thriven since we parted and its people prospered; but there will perforce be some reports that will be painful to hear, to be sure. I do not ask you to give a full account of all that has transpired since our leave-taking, for that is a tale whose unfolding could fill the space of many days, I do not doubt. Therefore, I leave it to you to judge what most urgently needs telling. As I am sure you have already guessed, I am particularly eager to know what passes with my sons whose absence is notable today, and that of my daughter and my son through marriage. I have not only my own interest in mind, but I ask also on behalf of my wife, the lady Celebrían, who awaits my word in Valinor and whose heart is heavy with uncertainty for the future of her children."

"This is a matter that touches me also, for Elladan and Elrohir are my grandsons, and Arwen my granddaughter," Galadriel added. "I too would hear of their fate."

"It is true, much has taken place even in the time following Samwise's departure," said Legolas. "The realms of Gondor and Arnor alike have flourished under the reign of King Elessar, as our good friend Sam can attest, and his rule has ushered in an age of peace and plenty without stint. All that was maimed, despoiled, or fallen to ruin in the aftermath of the Great War has been mended, restored, and remade, whenever it was in our power to do so. It was the hands of the many that made such a task possible, the mighty soldiers and the common men alike, the doughty women and the flowering maids, the laughing children and the able-bodied elders – all came together in the spirit of unity and performed what part was best suited to them. And not only men: Gimli and the hardy folk of Durin played a special part in the rebuilding of the City and wrought a gate of mithril where the Great Gate once stood, whereas I repaired to Ithilien with my people and tended specially to the forests that were ravaged by our foes. Such has occupied much of our time in your absence."

"You have left out the Glittering Caves of Aglarond," Gimli butted in proudly. "For I would have you know that you are all sitting in the presence of the first _Lord_ of the Glittering Caves whose beauty is only matched by the Lady of the Golden Wood."

"I beg your pardon, _Lord_," Legolas said, a sly smile appearing on his face as he stressed the titular word playfully.

"You had best mind yourself, Master Elf," said Gimli archly. "I shall suffer none of your impudence before our high hosts."

"Peace, both of you!" Gandalf remonstrated. "We will be here all day for a certainty if you persist in taunting and provoking one another at every opportunity."

"My apologies," said Legolas. "It is a long-accustomed habit with us, as you are learning, though we mean each other no hard feelings." Gimli sniffed as though to gainsay him, but had the tact not to harrumph outright or dole out another barb. "We have become so familiar with one another it seems we are wont to forget ourselves; but such conduct is ill-fitting under present circumstances. As penance, let me say that the Glittering Caves could not have received a worthier lord, and they are regarded as one of the great wonders of the world with Gimli and his steadfast kin to preserve them. Nor have the Elves been idle, for forests that were razed to the ground are now in full flower and abound with new life."

"And Middle-earth is grateful to the both of you for all of your service, I am certain," said Elrond. "Am I to assume then that my sons have chosen to remain in the land that you and so many others have worked so tirelessly to rebuild?"

Gimli looked down at his beard and allowed Legolas to speak where words had seemed to fail him.

"Elladan and Elrohir desired to be here very much," the Elf began circumspectly. "But it chances that they still have reason to remain in Middle-earth, at least for a short while longer. They have deemed it that their presence it still needed in the city of Gondor and they would not find respite in the West until the time is meet. They have made it quite clear to me, however, that they have every intention of following in our footsteps at some later date, as yet unnamed, and so come to be with you and your noble wife, their mother, who they long with all of their hearts to see again and whose name is ever in their prayers."

"I see," said Elrond, pausing briefly as he took a moment to digest this new information. "It gladdens me to hear that their plans seem to have been settled at least, and I am certain that it shall be a solace to Lady Celebrían also, though I know she hoped that this might be the day that one wish at least could be granted at last – to finally have sight of her sons," said Elrond. "I confess that I longed for the same thing, have longed for it through long days and longer nights. But knowing that their future in Valinor is near at hand and is no longer a question whose answer is hidden from me is a great comfort to my mind. Celebrían and I have waited this long that we might be together again, we can stand to wait however much longer is needed. But what keeps them tied to Middle-earth that they should have need of this postponement, I wonder? If the Kingdom of Gondor continues to thrive and prosper as you say, what need is there for them to remain?"

"It is for Eldarion that they stay," Galadriel said in a voice as remote as wind in the mountains, her eyes frosted like window-glass exposed to the chill breath of winter.

"My grandson?" said Elrond.

"Yes, my lord," Legolas confirmed. "Elladan and Elrohir stay out of love and loyalty to their nephew and to act as counsellors to the new King in these first days of his rule, among other reasons."

"Eldarion has ascended to the throne of Gondor," said Elrond with slow deliberation, as if testing the way the words rolled off of his tongue.

"If Aragorn's son in now king, then that means…" Frodo began, stopping himself when he realised what must necessarily be concluded.

"Aye," said Gimli, lifting his head at last. "The reign of King Elessar is ended. Aragorn rests within the walls of his city, and there shall he ever remain."

There was a silence so enveloping that the hands of time might have halted mid-revolution, for no sound of Sea or respiration of air could be sensed, no pulsing of life-blood through the hidden veins of the earth nor muted voice of bird or beast. It was a silence so fragile that the smallest of sounds might have shattered the world into so many fragments, the way that the merest tap could make a pane of glass shiver and crumble.

A hobbit's trembling voice was the tap that finally broke that silence.

"Poor Strider!" Sam burst out in a spate of sudden tears, burying his face in his napkin.

"Aragorn was many things in life, Sam," said Gandalf, raising his head. "He was a proud man, and a stern, he was resolute of purpose and valiant on the field of combat, he was swift in action but knew well when justice should be tempered with mercy, and he was one of the greatest men that I have had the honour of befriending; but let it never be said that 'poor' was one of his qualities, not even in the days of his exile when he was regarded as little more than a roaming brigand, for he would not be looked upon as an object of pity in life or afterlife."

"I know…I didn't mean it that way, Gandalf," Sam sniffled, drying his eyes. "It's just that he was so…so _strong_ and so good it seemed that nothing could touch him or bring him low. I'd've thought he'd outlive the likes of _me_ surely, fierce old Aragorn with his kingly blood and all."

"His life was very long by the reckoning of Men," said Gimli gently.

"But far too brief by the measure of Elves," Legolas added.

"Too brief by the measure of _all_ who loved him," Gimli corrected.

"Strong and weak, good and evil, kings and ruffians, all Men are subject to death, sooner or late, Samwise," said Gandalf heavily. "Even one so great as Aragorn son of Arathorn."

With heads bowed, the company observed a moment of silence by mutual consent that needed no announcement. When they raised their heads again, the light seemed almost restored to its former brightness, or it would have been if one had eyes dry enough to see it unclouded. The creatures that travelled upon the earth and those that roamed the skies came alive once more and resumed their regular occupations, and pluming billows of ocean waves rolled upon the beaches as before.

"I should have known it," Elrond said at last. "Perhaps in my heart I _did_ know it, but because of his close personal connexion both to myself and my daughter, turned a blind eye willfully. But I can no longer deceive myself. May Eru Ilúvatar keep him, and may his soul find peace eternal in the great beyond promised to all his mortal children."

"May he be at rest," Galadriel echoed, and all of their voices echoed hers and murmured in assent.

"I see now why Elladan and Elrohir chose to remain behind," said Elrond when their prayers had faded into silence. "And I do not reproach them, much as I hoped it might have been otherwise. The loss of a king loved by his people is a sore trial, and Aragorn was such a king that the world is not like to see again. But tell me truly, Legolas, how has Arwen borne his death?"

"She took it hard," confessed Legolas. "I think that she knew the hour was nigh before the stroke fell, but she took it hard all the same." It was his turn to drop his eye-gaze.

"And why not?" said Gimli, picking up the loose thread. "The love she bore that man was beyond the worth of all the mithril in Moria, for those who love truest are those who are most willing to sacrifice in love's name. And what greater sacrifice could she have made for him, if not her immortal life?"

"There is none greater," said Elrond sadly. By the tenor of the Half-elven's voice and the look in his eye, Legolas's guarded answer had imported more than he had meant to divulge. "Tell me now, and do not waver for want of sparing me what heartache may come of this; what becomes of Arwen now her lord has passed into the outer circles? I must know."

Legolas drew a breath and brought himself to look at Elrond, as was his due.

"The last we knew of her, she quit the White City the very day that Aragorn's body was interred and could not be induced to stay."

"Arwen is no longer in Gondor?" said Elrond. "Where else should she be, if not grieving with her children, with her brothers, with the people who called her Queen and loved her as they loved her husband? To what land was she bound?"

"I do not know, my Lord," said Legolas. "Not for certain. Perhaps she had no clear idea herself, for it is said that she – that she was much distraught when the King surrendered himself to his mortal fate. But it was whispered that in her grief, she was swept to Lórien, or what remains of it, for it exists now only a pale ghost of its former self."

"And as Lórien fades, so too does the light of the Evenstar," said Galadriel as her eyes seemed to darken and grow opaque.

A chill crawled down Frodo's spine at her words. _The last leaf has fallen_, he thought to himself strangely, little understanding where he came by the phrase or what its meaning might be.

"That is what is believed," said Legolas grimly. "And so Elladhan and Elrohir remain in the City not only to provide counsel to Eldarion, but to offer consolation in this heavy time of grieving. They stay to mourn the King that has fallen and his Queen, the sister that is lost to them."

Elrond brought his hand, curled into a fist, up to his mouth and closed his eyes wearily. Frodo's heart sunk low into the depths of his belly, and for an agonising moment, he thought that the Half-elven might break down in tears.

"Then they are where they must be," said Elrond, holding his voice as steady as he was able. "And I would not recall them even if that power was granted me."

"Elrond…" said Frodo, hoping that his own experience with loss and longing would lend eloquence to his tongue. He was only too familiar with the way the soul ached when someone that he had loved had been taken from him irrevocably. He remembered well that broken and bereft feeling that hounded him when Bilbo had passed, the way a piece of him so vital and so large had been suddenly removed, reducing him to less than half a Halfling. He knew what a hopeless feeling it was when the one person who could make him whole again was the one person who would never – _could_ never – be with him again. He wanted to tell him that he understood what he was feeling, that the pain would not always be so raw and consuming. He wanted to offer him some grain of comfort, however miniscule, that he might harvest when his heart was not so barren. Alas, his fluency with words seemed to have deserted him at the last in most inopportune fashion.

"Nay, Frodo, you need not take it upon yourself to speak words of comfort," Elrond said. "All that is in your heart is writ on your face in a language plainer than speech, and I can ask for no more." He turned back to Legolas. "I was not altogether unprepared for this news, and I have tried to gird myself in the event that it should come to this pass, but there is not shield nor armour that could soften such a blow, much less repel it."

"One can never be truly prepared for such tidings," said Galadriel sagely. "Against the hammer-stroke of loss, all defences are breached and of little avail. But even when you are at your very weakest you will begin to rebuild anew, just as all people must who have lost what cannot be replaced. You _shall not_ come to ruin, my son." She laid a white hand over his own, clenched on the tabletop as it was.

"The Lady has the right of it," said Gimli.

"I do not doubt the wisdom of her words," Elrond responded. "I only hope I might prove to be as resilient as she judges me."

"It takes time, m'Lord," Sam spoke up quite uncharacteristically, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. "I know it don't seem like it now, not when it's all happened so soon and you haven't had time to work it all over proper. There'll be days when you think nothing can fix the hurting, not when the roots go down so deep. Some days when you think that you're finally on the mend it gets to stinging again worse than before, because when someone's a part of you they're a part of you for always. But that's the thing that'll see you through in the end, y'see, because so long as Arwen lives on in you she can't ever be gone, not really. I just thought I should say that," he finished diffidently, sweeping his thumbs under his eyes to clear away the tear tracks on his face.

Frodo looked at him wonderingly, astounded to hear such words spill forth from him so easily where they had eluded him only moments before. Sam's plain, rustic speech, it seemed, had served far better than any finely-articulated phrase that he could have devised.

"The good hobbitess who bore you and the gaffer who sired you were an excellent and worthy people to have raised such a son, rest their souls, but they erred in one thing: they named you Halfwise when in truth half the world is not so wise as you," said Elrond.

"Well, I don't know about all that," Sam demurred blushingly. "But it makes me think back on Aragorn to hear you, something he wrote me in a letter once. He thought what I should be called _Panthael_ instead of _Perhael_, and you can believe I made sure to pass that on to the littl'uns, hoping that they'd pay their old dad more mind from then on. Not that it worked, mind, but it was good of him to say so. I've never forgotten it."

"He said it better than I," said Elrond. "And I shall remember your words in days to come, Master _Panthael_. But as for now, I stand upon the threshold of grief and must walk a long and weary road before I might begin to think of attaining peace. So I pray you excuse me from your company for the present." He stood up woodenly from his chair and gave a perfunctory bow, looking at no one in particular.

"I would go with you, if you have no objection," said Galadriel, rising to her feet.

"I should be glad of it," said Elrond as he offered up his arm. Linked together, the two walked into the distance with heads lowered, either in mourning or in private converse, there was no knowing. They slipped away as silent as sunset, two shimmering shadows swallowed by the sky.

"That was no easy task, to deliver that message," said Gimli at last.

"Harder still to be the one to receive it," said Legolas.

"It has been a heavy sentence and a difficult draught to swallow for all of us, Elrond more than any," said Gandalf, who had hitherto held his silence. "But Galadriel spoke truly: he shall not be undone by this. Not when his living sons are on the point of returning to him. Perhaps they were needed here more than they knew. But until that day, he will draw strength and comfort from Celebrían who will best understand his sorrow."

"And we too shall lend him all our support," said Legolas staunchly.

"We certainly shall," Frodo echoed.

"Aye, though some of us may not be around to lend it as long as others," said Gimli.

"You should not cast a darker shadow upon the day with such gloomy words," said Legolas. "After all, we here are all that remains of the Fellowship, and I should not like to think of losing another of our number on the very eve of Aragorn's passing."

"All that remains?" said Sam aloud, unable to hold himself back.

"Certainly, with Aragorn gone, and –" Legolas commenced, then realised what he had failed to state, what he thought had been obvious all along.

"Of course we are, Sam," said Frodo thickly, swallowing back a lump in his throat that felt the size of a robin's egg. "Gimli himself said that Aragorn lived far beyond the years of Men – and hobbits, though he did not say so outright. He did not need to. It comes to the same."

"Then that means…" said Sam in a voice that little disguised his dread.

"Forgive me, Frodo and Sam," said Legolas. "I did not mean for you to find out in this way, only I thought that you had already known it. Ah, but how could you have known before today? It was foolish of me to presume such a thing. I pray that you forgive me for not speaking of it before. Tidings such as these should not have been delivered in passing, but with the same ceremony and reverence that Aragorn was given." He sighed and looked at each of the old hobbits in turn. "Meriadoc and Peregrin passed on many years ago. They lay beside the King in Gondor. I am so sorry."

XXXXX

**Author's notes**: The information pertaining to Gimli's position as Lord of the Glittering Caves, the mithril gate built by the dwarves, and Legolas's removal to Ithilien to restore the destroyed forests was taken from the appendices to the _Lord of the Rings_. Arwen's withdrawal to Lorien after Aragorn's death is also found in the appendices under "The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen."

The letter Sam received from Aragorn that he refers to when Elrond pays him a compliment on his wisdom is mentioned in the second version of the omitted Epilogue. He addresses the letter to Sam and his family by their Elvish names, and when Elanor asks what Sam's name is, he responds: "'in the Elvish part, if you must know, the King says: 'Master _Perhael_ who should be called _Panthael_'. And that means: Samwise who ought to be called Fullwise. So now you know what the King thinks of your old father.'"

Apologies for the long delay for this chapter – unfortunately I cannot promise that the next update will be any quicker, but rest assured, I will be working at it whenever I can make time. I seemed to have hit a wall somewhere in the middle of this chapter and worried that I was starting to lose the plot. I anticipate the next few chapters will be even more difficult to write (for emotional reasons, especially), so please be patient!


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